


What Was Hidden

by RiftRaft



Series: I Hear Him Scream Universe [2]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: AU, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Transformation, Angst, Drama, Echoed Songs, Friendship, Hurt and comfort, I Hear Him Scream, Magic, Origin Story, Origins, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiftRaft/pseuds/RiftRaft
Summary: Some secrets remain undiscovered, swallowed up by time and careful manipulation. Yet their hiding away does not prevent them from impacting the future, even in the most unexpected ways. For this reason, it is important to understand how it all began...how the monster came to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This was originally posted in "Unheard Whispers" over on Fanfiction.net, but I felt that it warranted its own upload here on AO3. I hope you enjoy!

The children were out playing.

She watched them from her door, leaning against the frame with a content smile. They were loud and rambunctious, but they were hers. They had beautiful auburn hair like molten copper woven into silk strands, their eyes the harsh blue of their father. They would grow to be the strongest warriors, the most beautiful Vikings to ever grace their peaceful village.

They were her entire world.

She breathed in the crisp spring air and let it out, closing her eyes to enjoy the sounds of her children’s happy squeals mingling with birdsong and rhythmic ocean waves. Married to a stranger, one would think they would be unhappy. Yet in her darkest time she found love—she found life. She lifted her hand and ran delicate fingers over her stomach.

 _Soon_ , she thought. Her eyes drifted back up to her children.

She could not think of a single moment where she was as happy as she was then.

 

The children were late for dinner.

They had been out playing, and had yet to return. A tight knot had formed around her heart and clenched tight, making her dizzy with fear. She paced the tiny house they called home, wringing her hands together. Her eyes darted out every window, looking over every hill in hopes of seeing her beloved ones charging over one another in a flurry of life and excitement.

“Damn you, woman,” her husband growled. He grabbed her on her fifth go around the table and threw her down into a chair, positioning himself to block her view. “Calm down.”

All of her anxiety burst out in a rush, “But the children—!”

The door pounded open. She sank into her chair, exhaling a breath that she felt she had been holding for hours. Little feet scampered on the floor, high-pitched voices exclaiming to their parents what they found, who beat who in a fight, who should be grounded for this, who got in trouble with the neighbors for that. Her daughter even mentioned some mythical creature, swearing that such things exist, just further up north.

A sharp _slap_ rang throughout their humble home. A hand flew up to her mouth, her other reaching out to her stunned child. The poor thing couldn’t rip her gaze off her father, tears glossing her beautiful eyes and a handprint the color of blood on her cheek.

“We will not speak of such things in my house,” her husband said. “Such talk can easily brand you a fool or heretic.”

Her daughter, her wonderful daughter, began crying then. She ran to the tiny room she and her siblings called their own, slamming the old door in a weak semblance of privacy. Her sobs filled the house, and the supper that followed was silent and cold.

 

The children were sleeping.

She waited until her husband’s breathing grew deep and even and slunk out of bed, cringing when his breath hitched. She stopped at the door, watching his chest rise up and down in the darkness. She waited to feel something, whether it be fear or anger or love, but found herself impartial. He was a part of her life, and that was all.

She tiptoed through the tiny home and out the door, into the cool, bleak night. The moon was gone, allowing a great wave of stars to fill its place. They were beautiful, like little dewdrops reflecting some far-off light that she couldn’t see. They perfectly illuminated the land about her: the stony cliffside that seemed to shoot straight up behind her house, the small field between hers and her neighbors’ houses, the few windswept trees that never lasted too long.

For a moment, something flickered. The hairs on her neck stood on end, and a deep chill rattled her body. She shivered, holding her arms close, and peered back and forth. The village was small, but no light shone from a single house. She was alone.

Or so it seemed.

It was a terrifying thought. Her mind flew to her children. Beautiful. Lively. Vulnerable.

She was at their door before she could blink, seconds away from slamming it open. With a calmness she did not know herself to possess, she forced herself to open it quietly.

They were fine.

She let out a sigh, shutting the door and leaning her head against it. Again her skin crawled and she felt a presence around her, malevolent and slimy.

 _It’s just my imagination_ , she thought. _It will leave._

* * *

The children were not home.

She went about her busy day, filling her mind with chores instead of worries. Her husband had cornered her that past night when the children had gone to bed, snapping at her about her persistent anxiety.

 _The children can take care of themselves_ , he’d said. _You can’t coddle them forever. They’ll grow weak and useless if you keep this up._

She’d meekly nodded along whilst thinking, _But_ I _am strong._ I _will protect them. They are not men and women grown; they need protection._

If only she could speak so bold.

She went outside to check on their tiny, shriveling garden. The livestock had long died out; she’d have to hope that her husband would return with some meat. She got to work tending to the dead plants, the ones infected with little black and white spots, the ones that were unable to withstand the winter’s cold.

Goosebumps littered her arms. Her chest filled with a sharp, fluttering spikes of pain.

In an instant she was standing straight up, hand flitting to her small sword. She looked around. Nothing was abnormal, but her body screamed at her to run inside—and fast.

She glanced back over at the cliff. It was only a few strides away, towering over her home. She saw nothing out of the usual.

Her first instinct was to go find her children. But as she began to walk around the house, her husband’s words flowed back to her.

Perhaps…she was just overthinking it….?

Reluctantly— _very_ reluctantly—she returned back to her garden work. She was just tired. Everything would be fine.

* * *

The children were ecstatic, barely keeping themselves in her sights with their excitement.

She desperately tried to reel them towards her, pulling their grabbing hands away from the _thing_ and trying to place them behind her. They shrieked about mythical creatures again, no longer fearful of being reprimanded now that they had proof in flesh and blood.

It had been brought in by one of the warriors, screeching like a devil and snapping at anything that came close to it. Never before had such a creature been seen, only heard of in passing. It seemed that the northerners had been right, after all.

It was the size of a housecat, with limbs of a newt and wings unlike any bird she had ever seen. Its body was marred with spines that reminded her of rubble in a landslide, and its teeth were just as crooked and snagged. It had a muzzle that looked partially like a donkey’s snout and ended in a beak, and its eyes were so massive that it seemed to see everything around it.

Fear swept through the very few villagers that inhabited their humble little island. It was put in a cage and left there for hours, squawking and gnawing at the bars all the while. At one point, the thing even spat fire, as if it were born of a volcano.

Eventually it was decided to be put to death. Such a creature was unholy, an ill omen. It was muzzled and taken outside so that it would not damage anything in what few buildings they had. A butcher slung his knife down upon its neck, the splatter of blood painting the ground.

The poor children cried for hours.

* * *

The children were no longer excited to see the dragons.

They clung to her and screamed as one swooped overhead into the brisk night. The shrieks turned to sobs as a house suddenly exploded, flinging shrapnel in every direction. She held onto them and rushed them away from their house, her legs and arms weak with terror. Her husband had rushed off to fight the monsters and was nowhere to be found.

The entire island was alive with fire and blood. She looked to her left and saw a man staggering in a circle, one arm gone but for a stump shooting blood onto the grass. She looked right, and saw a house collapse, the shrill cries of its inhabitants flooding her ears for but a moment before drowning in the roar of the flames.

She looked forward, and saw a dragon.

Its scales were as gray as the cliffside, its body so full of spines it was a wonder it didn’t impale itself. She skidded to a stop to rush her children away, but it was too late; the dragon had set its eyes on them and trotted forward on its wings and hind legs, teeth bared.

The children whimpered and clung to her legs, and she squared her feet and threw them behind her back.

“Stay back, beast!” She growled, unsheathing her sword.

The dragon lowered its head so that their eyes were on the same level. It made a low, rumbling noise—bafflingly close to that of a cat—and leaned in. It never lost eye contact, growing closer and closer.

Her skin prickled. Her hair stood on end. Her chest filled with sharp anxiety pains. And she knew.

“You’ve…been watching me,” she mumbled, flabbergasted.

The dragon tilted its head and brought itself closer yet. It stared at her with wide pupils, its muzzle inches from her face.

Then it reached a claw out and gently grabbed her around the waist, tugging her close and crooning.

She felt her heart stop, her legs go weak. Her body locked up, refusing to flee no matter how much she howled at it to move. In her mind’s eye she saw herself incinerated to ashes, her beautiful children watching their mother die before their very eyes.

The dragon’s claws fastened tighter, and it leaned its forehead into hers. She whimpered, finally finding herself enough to twist her head away and break the contact with the beast. She tried to pull free, but her trembling limbs made any attempt at escape a feeble one.

The dragon’s eyes grew wider and tilted its head. It purred and chirped, tightening its hold on her.

“G-get…back…,” she stuttered. She was so terrified, she could barely see straight. “M-monster…”

The demon reeled back, jaw opening ever-so-slightly and eyes filling with…something. It stared at her, appalled. Its hold loosened.

It was enough.

With all the strength she had in her, she flung her body to the side and put all of her weight in her wielding arm, driving the sword deep into the dragon’s shoulder. It roared as though she’d severed its limbs from its body, releasing her in its pain.

“ _Run!_ ” She commanded to her children, spinning around and pushing them forward. They hesitated, then turned and sprinted away as fast as they would go. When they were far enough away she whipped around to face the dragon, bringing her sword forward. It was looking at her with a difficult expression to decipher.

Its eyes flicked over her shoulder. It bared its teeth.

“ _Stop!_ ” She screamed, thrusting the weapon out before she could think. She managed to just barely make contact with the dragon’s neck as it passed, but a simple swipe of its wing had her sailing back through the air.

She smacked into the ground so hard the world went black. When it returned not a second later she scrambled dizzily to her feet, taking in the horror before her.

Her children were running as fast as they could. But they were so small, so young. The dragon galloped like a charging destrier, its yellow eyes locked on them. It took it one, two bounds…

“ _NO!_ ” She scrambled until she was upright and forced herself into a drunken run. An explosion nearby toppled her to the ground, and she could only watch.

It got to her daughter first. She had enough time to look over her shoulder and see the demon before it was upon her, raking its claws through her fragile body. It grabbed her head in its jaws and shook and shook and _shook_. Her flailing arms and legs suddenly went limp.

Dropping her precious child like a rotten bit of food, the dragon swept its tail around and dragged her sons towards it. It brought one claw-filled paw down on one, ripping deep into him from chest to hip. Taking him up in its jaws, it flung him aside into the darkness. Then it turned to her last son, cowering against the earth. It made sure to peer down at him before puffing up and spewing a torrent of flame onto him.

She couldn’t see what remained, her eyes were so blurred by the tears, her entire body rattling from the unbearable sight before her. She screamed wordlessly into the night, pulling herself to her knees and hugging herself with clawed hands. She howled again, a throat-splitting sound that rattled her entire body. Then again. Then again.

 The dragon was coming for her, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t stop seeing it happen. Her children—they couldn’t be—!

It was suddenly in front of her again, its enormous eyes level with hers. It grabbed her shoulders with its bloodied claws and pressed their foreheads together again. Purring, it withdrew and squeezed her shoulders. Clenching its eyes shut, it bowed its head and stopped moving altogether.

A deep, prickling pain crept from her shoulders to the outreaches of her body. She was brought out of her pain by something of an altogether different sort.

Her body lit on fire from the inside out, and an agony unrivaled pulled her limb from limb until a great bolt of fire laced her entire being apart.

* * *

Her children were…her children were…

“Finally…my love…”

Something nudged her. She moaned, swatting a heavy limb at her husband. She’d had the worst nightmare—she just needed some rest, some time to recover…

“Now, don’t be like that. We can’t have you killed by these pathetic wretches. Not after all of my hard work.”

She forced her eyes open, taking in the hell surrounding her. Fires, crushed houses, blood, screams of pain and fear. Every inch of her felt as though it had been burned so thoroughly it could no longer feel, like she’d been bathed in magma. Again she let out a wheezy cry, her hands clenching and unclenching. "My children,” she croaked, her eyes sliding shut.

Whoever was speaking to her pushed gently at her chin. “Please, my love, we must leave immediately. I know this is confusing, but these humans will kill you if we stay any longer!”

“My…my…what?” She mumbled. She used all she could to pull her eyelids open and lift her head.

The dragon. It was there, staring at her. She flinched away, flying up onto her legs and falling backwards—

The body that tumbled to the ground was not hers. It was huge. It was covered in scales. It was lined with spines. It had extra appendages—a tail, and wings that fluttered at its side.

It had claws.

She stared at them, jaw working up and down. She clenched and unclenched her hands, and the claws that belonged to the creature that had possessed her moved accordingly.

The dragon leaned its long neck down and used its head to knock her back over onto her feet. She stood for a few seconds before her shaking legs gave out, unable to comprehend…to even try to believe that…

“You look even more beautiful than you were before, my love,” the dragon whispered. Had she not been so lost, she would have been surprised at its sudden ability to speak. It leaned in and nuzzled her. “Yes…we’re finally together.”

“You…” She swallowed, forcing herself to her feet. “You monstrous _dragon!_ How could you do this to me?!”

It tilted its head to the side. “To make you superior to all and to grant you a better life, my love. Human lives are so fleeting, after all—a dragon’s suits you scores better.”  A crooked smile split its terrible jaw. “Why, I didn’t know you had it in you, to try to defy someone like me!”

“My children!” She screamed, rearing up and aiming a clumsy swipe at it. It easily avoided the attack, and she crumbled to the ground and sobbed, “Oh, gods, my beloved children! Why?! Why punish _them?!_ Why not only me?”

“Merely distractions. You’ll have more someday, I promise you.” She lifted herself to her feet with her head hanging, nose wrinkling and teeth baring. Ignoring her, the monster went on, “Take this as your first lesson as one of us. As the superior species.” The dragon leaned in again, nuzzling its cheek against hers. “Oh, how I love you. You became my entire world when I saw you. I was heartbroken over the death of my mate, and then you appeared in the darkness.” It gave a sad sigh. “Even as a human, you still looked like her. I…I knew that the gods had made a mistake, placing you in that useless body. You were always meant to be like this!”

She lunged.

She didn’t need experience. Its neck was right there, filling her vision. She acted on impulse, thrusting her body forward and stretching her jaw as wide as it would go. She was about half the dragon’s size, but still it fell to the ground with a shocked gasp.

She clamped her jaw shut, the flesh underneath bursting like overripe fruit. With her claws she scraped at its scales, tearing, tearing, tearing! She wrung her head back and forth until there was nothing left to hold onto and her mouth was coated with the musky taste of its blood, her nose filled with the revolting scent.

The dragon had had no time to react. She had moved fast—impossibly fast, so fast her head was spinning. Its eyes inched towards her, clouding more and more with each second.

“But…I…” It inhaled deeply. “I love you…I want—I wanted t-t-to help y-you…”

“By killing my children?” She growled, staring it down. “By torturing them? By changing me into a _beast?_ ”

The dragon gave a long, shuddering breath. Its eyes unfocused, and its chest went still.

She gazed at its eyes for a moment that felt like it lasted forever. Then, with sudden and jerky movements, she flinched away and took slow, heavy steps away from it. She didn’t know where she was going—just that she needed to be _away_.

She walked and walked and walked until she found herself alone, snapping out of her trance with a sudden slap of reality. There were no buildings, or people, or even sounds. Even the night insects had grown quiet with fear.

Her children…that dragon had…

She sat down, lifted her eyes to the heavens, and wailed.

* * *

Her children were dead.

She was a dragon.

* * *

She was alone.

The dragons had all left. She paced through the abandoned fields, occasionally coming upon an area that she dimly recognized. In that horrible night, the entire population of her village had been slaughtered. What had been loosely called their village square was nothing but rubble now, filled with the scent of death and smoke.

The livestock had all been taken. There were no forests large enough to support game. All that remained were the birds and rodents, none of which were slow enough for her to catch.

She spent two days stumbling to each and every house in fruitless search of survivors. By the end of the first day she could no longer speak. She had used up all of her voice begging for someone to answer her, and had no more to give.

Eventually she came upon the corpses of her children.

She wept until she could produce no more tears, and then wept some more. She didn’t stop until her chest ached and her wings hung limp at her side, her mouth dry and limbs unable to support her.

She couldn’t bring herself to hold as good a funeral as she could for them. That would mean accepting that they were dead, that she was cursed to this body and all alone.

So she left them there.

* * *

She was ready.

Twelve days had passed. Twelve days of mourning. Twelve days of crying herself awake and to sleep. Twelve days of dehydration and starvation.

She felt herself growing frail. She’d found herself staring longingly at the bodies of her villagemates and had forced herself to stumble away from them, refusing to allow herself to stoop so low. She’d spent the last of her energy fleeing into what wilderness the isle had.

She curled up in a ball and hissed as another spike of pain shot through her stomach.

 _Soon, my children_ , she thought. _Soon, your mother will hold you again…soon, my sweet children._

* * *

She was dying.

Delirium brought with it hallucinations. She saw the dragon that had claimed to love her. She saw it transforming into her husband and then slaying her. She saw her children walking about regardless of their injuries. She saw the grass turn to a seeping ocean of blood, a sweltering and infected wound that dragged her down with it. She even saw another dragon. It swept down from the skies and spoke to her, but she did not care to listen to what it had to say.

She felt something wrap around her. The ground was suddenly far away.

She didn’t know what it meant, but she supposed it was merely a trick of the mind in its final moments.

* * *

She was warm.

It was an unfamiliar sensation. She scooted closer to it, burying her head into its comfort.

“Hello, young one.”

She stopped at once, lifting her head. The source of the warmth was…was…

A dragon with scales of fire offered her a weary smile. “Do not be frightened. I found you on a flight through the islands and carried you back here to safety.” He nudged a fish towards her. “Eat.”

It was gone before she could even consider. She licked her teeth, eyes flitting about for more. The dragon curled his slender body further around her and heaved. Then his jaws opened and a large clump of fish slid out.

It was repulsing. She wrinkled her nose, but her body screamed at her to eat the food. She tried to fight it, but instinct won over mind. The fish were gone in a heartbeat.

Hanging her head in shame and embarrassment, she mumbled, “Thank you.”

“It is completely my pleasure,” he soothed. For several minutes he was quiet.

“I beg that you do not take what I am about to say as arrogance.” When she looked up, confused, he said, “I am a dragon of high intellect and magic prowess. More than enough to know that you were not born a dragon.” He frowned, and said much more quietly, “What a terrible fate.”

She tried to pull herself to her feet but was too weak, falling against his smooth side. “Wait!” She gasped. “Can you…can you reverse it? Can you break the spell?”

The dragon shook his head sagely, and she crumpled against his side and heaved a sob. “I am so sorry. I wouldn’t dare—not in your condition. Surely it would kill you.”

“Then do it!” She gasped. He jolted back, eyes wide. “Kill me! Put me back in my body and let me join my children!”

He gaped at her. “Such…such reckless words. To try to force your own death as such…it defies the very Dragoness of the Moon, who created you with all the love she has!”

“I don’t care! Take the spell back and kill me, dragon!”

His long tail wrapped around her, the scales sparkling like embers. It was so warm, so comforting that her resolve flickered with uncertainty.

“I will not,” he said. “If only I knew how the dragon did it…,” he shook his head with a growl. “Such a spell would surely kill you!”

She looked away. So that was it, then.

The dragon brought a wing up over her. “I am so, so sincerely sorry,” he whispered. “I cannot attempt something that I am certain will end your life. I did not know that this was even possible, even with all my training. I will try to do what I can to help you, but to return you to your original form…” He cut himself off with a deep sigh.

 “Help me?” She repeated.

The dragon nodded. “Yes. I will teach you to fly and hunt. I will try to teach you magic, but it feels very…different. The core of it lies not with your fire. Perhaps…you could be an apprentice of sorts. But only if it please you.” He looked to her expectantly.

This dragon was offering to _help_ her? A complete stranger, an abomination?

“Who are you?” She gasped.

The dragon smiled. “You can call me Sphere.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

She was Sphere’s student.

Flight lessons had been painful, but relatively simple. Firebreathing was a bit more difficult because of her reluctance. Hunting was the same; she couldn’t bring herself to use her teeth and claws again, not when every time she tried to use them she saw her children beneath her.

He even tried to teach her magic, but it was slow-going. She felt something there—something living and whirling—but she only reached a point before hitting a stopping point that she could not surpass. She could strengthen her limbs, fly at unearthly speeds, perform healing spells, harden her scales so that a blade of diamond could not cut through. Yet she could not reach her full potential; it was as if the gods themselves were holding her down.

She found herself upset most of the time, agitated at the littlest of things. When she was not training then she was pacing, growling and kicking anything out of her path. She practiced her strength on trees and stones, pounding them with everything she had until they crumbled to dust beneath her. At least _this_ was an improvement. She was growing so strong, in fact, that she had doubled in size from the sheer intensity of her training. All the better, in her mind.

One evening, after hours of attempting to further her magic training, she crushed a stone twice her size to rubble. She roared as she sent the final blow onto it and shattered it like glass.

“My apprentice,” Sphere said, “you are hurting yourself.”

She swung her head towards him, teeth bared. He was not fazed. “I understand that you have suffered an enormous loss. I, myself, know what it is like to lose everything. I—“

“ _No you don’t!_ ” She shrieked, opening her wings and stepping towards him. “You have no idea what this feels like!”

Sphere gave her a saddened frown, tilting his head. “I do. Do you know how I earned my name?”

“Of course I do.” He had told her on one of their first nights together. He had made a fake sun in the sky, earning a name: the highest of honors in dragon culture.

Sitting in front of her, Sphere said, “Do you know what happened afterwards?”

She struggled through the rage, her pounding heart filling her ears. “Did you…take on other apprentices?”

Sphere closed his eyes. “No. I was exiled.”

Her breath left her in a burst. The anger seeped away, leaving shame and guilt curled up beneath it. “You were….what? But why?”

Sphere craned his head north. “Dragons are selfish creatures. What we do not have, we take. What we cannot have, we scorn. My magic is unlike any other kind. I possess the average magic of a dragon—what I have been trying to teach you—but also a magic given to me by the gods.”

She took a moment to absorb that. “ _Two_ kinds? What’s the other?”

“Soulfire.” He shifted and inhaled deeply. As he did, a stripe from the tip of his nose to his tail lit up with the lime green of his fire. Upon breathing his flame, it flowed as smooth as honey, and he caught it with such ease in his claws that it baffled her. He drifted his paw through the air, leaving behind a molten ribbon of fire, and spun it round and round until it formed….a sphere.

“Wow,” she breathed, enamored by its beauty and elegance as it hung there, a perfect drop of sunlight. After a moment, “Teach me. I beg of you.”

Sphere dropped his paw, the glow fading and the fire dispersing into a flurry of sparks. He hesitated, and then pulled her close with his wing, holding her in a somewhat-awkward hug. “You are not yet healed. Soul-magic is named as such because it uses a dragon’s very being. It is exhausting, overwhelming, and can easily corrupt its bearer.”

The hint, as always, was blaringly obvious, but she snorted and rolled her eyes all the same. “Then tell me this: why show me? Why take me on as your apprentice when I am clearly not fit for it?”

For the first time, she saw pain flash across his face. He studied her, distraught, not even caring to mask his emotions as he always seemed to. “I understand your pain. I know what it is like to lose love, to be so very alone. I may not have had hatchlings, but it still burns nonetheless.” Her leaned down and gave her a reassuring lick to the forehead, smiling wanly when she pulled away in embarrassment. “In time, my apprentice. But I cannot in good conscious give you soulfire when you are so deeply wounded.”

* * *

She was getting better at magic.

She practiced more by herself now. The pain she felt had long since faded to anger, a deep need for revenge. It was no comfort knowing that she had killed the _monster_ at her first chance. The other dragons who had been there had also been responsible, in a way. This was fallacious reasoning at best; she knew what she was really angry with, but couldn’t break herself to acknowledge it.

She was supposed to protect them. That was her sole purpose when they became a part of her world. Now they were gone, and she had failed.

So she practiced with all her time. She tried to recover—she really did! But it seemed like a waste of time, like it had become a part of her. She had lost her children. She had become a dragon. Those horrible facts were enough to shake her entire core, leaving her with no solid footing.

All she had left was magic. If she could control what had changed her life so dramatically, then maybe she could find peace. Maybe she would not wake with nightmares that left her sobbing in the desolate and empty darkness. She even thought she had found a new kind of magic, as idiotic as it sounded. When she strained it just right, when she tried to expand it _out_ , she could feel something. The first time she had done it around Sphere, he had grown very uneasy, and so she took to practicing it only when he was not around.

So, then, at night…at night was when she _really_ honed her skills.

She would wait until Sphere would fall asleep. She could no longer sneak around while he was awake; she had grown too big. She was now his size, even though he had dwarfed her when they had first met.

 Then she would start her own spell—her magic that operated outside her body. It was intangible yet present, like a shadow. She would reach for Sphere and would suddenly feel his presence, like he was a part of her soul. Sometimes she would even hear and see things, little glimpses of his dreams. She would halt everything if he so much as stirred.

It was exciting, to have such power. She couldn’t wait to perfect it and show it to Sphere. Maybe then he would show her soul-magic.

And then…then, she would finally be at peace.

* * *

She was starting to get worried.

Her magic—mental magic, she’d dubbed it—was becoming more powerful with each passing night. It filled her with pride; it was hers and hers alone, a shadow that could expand and blanket anything it came into contact with in her influence. Now when she reached out, she could feel exactly where Sphere’s source of magic was, in the center of his chest where his fire lied. She could even touch it like it was tangible. And when she dove into his mind, she could clearly see and hear all that he dreamed.

If she tried hard enough…she could even see and hear his memories. She viewed this part of her with trepidation; it felt _wrong_ , like she was stealing the only thing the dragon possessed. They had grown to trust each other like family, and the very act of lying to him made her feel uneasy. To shift around through his mind was a brutish and horrible betrayal.

Sphere was growing restless. He spoke of taking on new apprentices, and jealousy shot through her like an arrow with each suggestion. When she told him that such dragons would not appear from thin air, he seemed baffled at the aspect.

She needed to help him, but didn’t know how. He was so unlike himself, she was afraid to bring up any sensitive topics for fear of upsetting him. She didn’t know what had gotten into him, but it was the present matter; mental magic could wait.

* * *

She was finished with her training.

Sphere brought her the news one day with a proud, loving smile, pressing his warm forehead against hers.

“You have strengthened your magic as much as you can, my apprentice. You have learned all that I can teach you about healing magic and combat magic. I have never been so happy,” he said with a smile that reached his eyes. “I am truly happy to have met you, to have grown so close to you, as if you were a part of my brood. You are much like a sibling to me.”

“And you as well,” she returned with warmth, leaning heavily into him and purring. After a moment she drew away, squashing her anxiety, and asked, “So will you finally train me in soul-magic?”

He did not respond right away, and it was all it took. She flicked her head to the side angrily, glaring off to the side.

“It is because I want to build a new nest.”

She blinked, twisting her head to stare at him. “A new nest?”

He nodded. “Yes. To teach you soul-magic will take many seasons yet. I want to bring this gift to _all_ dragons. So we must build a new nest that we can teach…together.”

“And where will these dragons come from?” She asked. Again.

Sphere smiled, but it was pained. “We must take hatchlings.”

It took her a second to process that. Something dark within her stirred. Then she leapt to her feet. “ _Absolutely not!_ ”

Sphere did not seem surprised by her reaction. “I know that you are…particularly inclined to disagree. Please, understand why. I have been exiled by all of the dragons of the north. Any dragon we try to take in now will scorn us. We must take in hatchlings, because they are the only dragons who are unbiased enough to listen.”

“I will not participate in the kidnapping of children!” She seethed. “I will not allow it!”

Sphere leaned in close to her as if afraid something else would hear. “But if we have a nest…then you will finally be able to heal your wounds.”

“Oh, and how is that?” She snorted. She would be lying if she stated that the same thought hadn’t crossed her mind—but this was insane.

“Because you will have children.” It was said so bluntly that she did a double-take. She felt the anger come charging forth, and did all she could to force it down.

Sphere closed his eyes and hung his head, wings and shoulders drooping. “It is a horrible, shameful thing to say. But I know the soul of your pain…you lost your hatchlings. If you could once again raise young, then perhaps it will help you finally come to terms with your losses.” He looked up at her, eyes agonized. He had to crane his neck, since she had grown taller than him. “It pains me deeply to see you filled with such fury, my apprentice. I only wish to help you. I am in no way asking you to replace your own—but to try and recover.”

Guiltily now, he asked, “Will you join me?”

She stared at him.

He was offering to her family. Her own children again. The joy of raising a child, of having them call her Mother and love her unconditionally. But it was wrong. It was…it was…

 _I can make things right this time,_ she thought. _I can…I can amend my mistakes. I can make my childrens’ deaths not be in vain. I can finally be happy._

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. “I will.”

* * *

She was doing the unspeakable.

It was a damnable thing. She knew it. Sphere knew it.

But they had to have a nest.

They waited until mating season had arrived and the nests had flocked to their hatching-grounds. On the night of the first hatchlings’ appearances, they would swoop in.

She quivered with excitement and fear. They had had to wait two seasons. Two seasons of planning and looking forward to family. Two seasons until she could have children again.

And tonight was the first night.

The moon was gone—all the better. The dragons were huddled over their young, most of them fast asleep after an exhausting day of meeting their offspring.

She hovered above the island, far enough up so that her wingbeats could not be heard. Because she had increased so heavily in size—now a fair amount larger than Sphere—she had to be very far up. She took this as a benefit; she could see each and every nest. She could see every single child that would soon be hers to love and raise.

Oh, she could already tell that they were beautiful.

A whoosh of air, and Sphere was at her side. She nodded with a giddy smile, and he returned it.

“Tonight, we start a family,” he purred, butting his head against hers.

“Tonight,” she agreed.

Sphere dove until he was on the far side of the island. His dorsal spines began to glow that lime green, and he banked in a tight circle. His fire exploded across the night sky, twirling into an enormous sun that lit up the world as if it were no longer night.

The dragons below all awoke with cries of fear and shock. Sphere continued his soulfire, placing himself just inside the fire so that he would not be easily seen.

 _Come on!_ She thought, staring at the unmoving dragons below.

One dragon took flight to investigate. Then two. Then three.

_Yes! Thank the Dragoness of the Moon!_

She flew down as quietly as she could, dropping straight down first and then making her way up to the island. Most of the hatchlings had been abandoned, left to sleep without protection. The soulfire was simply too impossible to ignore.

Running over to a particularly crowded area, she took in the hatchlings. Two-Walkers, Hum-Wings, Flame-Skins, even Two-Wings. There was one lonely Shadow-Blender separated from the bunch, its wings limp and frail. It quite nearly looked dead. Curled up next to the poor thing was a Forest-Cutter, a dragon that would grow to be almost as big as she was.

She nudged them all awake, leaning down and crooning at them. They were babies—they didn’t understand speech or that she wasn’t their mother. All that they knew was that she was there, and that she was warm and loving.

She tilted her head and pushed a hatchling up onto it. It clambered onto her back with wobbly, unsure feet. She scooted the rest closer to her, growing more frantic with each one. The babies had clinging instincts, Sphere had told her. They would hold on to her. They would be safe.

Finally all that was left were the Shadow-Blender and Forest-Cutter. She grabbed them both in her claws and took off into the darkness. She did not look back.

She was two minute’s flight away when the daylight suddenly ended. Sphere had dropped his spell and disappeared into the night, ready to meet up with her later. She breathed a sigh of relief. Even though she had her children with her safe and sound, it was still a frightening and dangerous stunt.

Distant howls and shrieks soon rose from behind, brought to her ears by the wind. They gave her some guilt, but it was a price to pay for family. Besides, after everything that she had gone though, did she not deserve to feel the loving embrace of children once more?

* * *

She was a mother again.

The children scampered about her body, clambering through the forest of spines that dotted her body. They were such playful things, ready to go on an adventure at a moment’s notice.

That is, all of them but the little Shadow-Blender.

Something was wrong with the poor thing—that much was clear. She was unable to even open her eyes most days, squirming in place and whimpering.

Both Sphere and herself had attempted healing-magic, but nothing seemed to take hold. She grimaced down at the little Shadow-Blender as she curled closer towards her chest. Her thoughts briefly went to her mental magic, but brushed she brushed it off. The shadow of her magic twisted bitterly within her mind, almost as if it were aware of being ignored.

“Sphere,” she called. Her mentor lifted his head from the Hum-Wing he was caring for and approached warily, leaning down to observe the frail hatchling.

“This unfortunate Shadow-Blender,” he said, sniffing about the child’s body.

“Why won’t our magic help her?”

Sphere shook his head. “Something inherent. Perhaps the Dragoness of the Moon did not intend for her to live in this time, in this form.”

She felt the anger from long ago rise, and batted it down. “We still have to at least try to save her. Look at the other children.” They spared a moment to watch their children dart about. One took off into the air and held flight for a few seconds before smacking into the ground with a frustrated grunt. Turning back to Sphere, she said, “They are so full of life. But this one…”

The Shadow-Blender baby curled up and shivered, almost as if she could feel their eyes on her.

* * *

She was realizing that the Shadow-Blender was an omen.

They awoke on the third day to the beautiful Shadow-Blender cold and still, having left them in the night.

She and Sphere were heartbroken, curling up against each other for hours as their children hovered uncertainly. It was little comfort that the Shadow-Blender was doomed from the start.

And then…it started happening to the other children.

 They had been hunting and feeding the children as any other good parent would. Sphere swore to the Dragoness of the Moon that he knew exactly how to take care of the babies, but even the regurgitated food seemed to have little effect on their health. They ate, of course, and they drank from a nearby stream that they were brought to. But it was hopeless.

After four days, the children began to lose their vigor. They had started to learn words with eager enthusiasm, clambering around their mother and father for knowledge. Yet now they hardly spoke at all, only showing the barest hints of intrigue when they were spoken to. Their playfights were a little less wild, their attempts at flight more and more lethargic.

After seven days, the children stopped playing. They would only pace slow patrols throughout the cave that had been chosen specifically to raise them. Any attempt from herself or Sphere to brighten up their mood was met with a blank, tired stare. Those that did not walk sat and stared into nothing, only snapping out of the trancelike state when they were physically taken back from it.

After ten days, the children could not move. They slept restlessly for most of the days, only rousing when they were awakened. What time they did spend awake, they cried and cried until their tiny, helpless voices could say no more.

After thirteen days…after thirteen days…

* * *

She was inconsolable.

She wept and wept and wept. She held the forms of the little dragons close to her heart and tried to will them back to life, bathing them in her tears and begging the gods to give them back to her.

Sphere stood at the mouth of the cave, head bowed and wings splayed. His body rattled like an unsteady sapling faced with a hurricane. When he tried to speak, he could produce no sound. Eventually he could not stand to be alone anymore and crawled to her, where they curled around the dead and sobbed.

They mourned for thirteen days—the time that they had been lucky enough to spend with their children.

* * *

She was ready to show Sphere, if only to distract him.

“Sphere,” she called to him. He was absentmindedly clawing a pattern into the soft earth, staring out to sea from the cliff that they had traveled to. After some time, it had been decided to leave the cave that held their awful memories, and to try to find a place to begin anew.

He stopped his drawing, craning his neck to see her. “Yes, my apprentice?”

She had rehearsed the entire conversation that would follow in her mind. She had no doubt that it would turn out as she wanted.

With as much confidence as she could muster, she said, “I’ve invented a new form of magic.”

He blinked at her, sitting up straighter and turning his body to face her. “New magic?”

Nodding, she trotted over and sat in front of him, blocking his view of the ocean. “Yes. It’s something that I have been trying to perfect for many seasons. I didn’t want to show it to you until I was content with it, so that I wouldn’t come to you with an imperfect form.” She leaned down so that their eyes were level and said, “I call it mental magic. I believe that the best way to describe it is with a demonstration.”

Sphere narrowed his eyes, concerned now, but nodded anyways. With a reassuring grin, she reached inside herself, finding the shadowy mist at the center of her forehead. When she nudged it to life it twisted and writhed, angrily snapping away from her control—a recent development, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Unfazed, she pushed it outwards to her only remaining family, pushing it into his mind.

He squirmed, eyes widening and pupils slitting. She dug in deeper and deeper, until she could see and hear and feel all that he could. For a moment it made her pause. His heart was hammering, his mind racing too fast for her to follow.

He was afraid.

 _Don’t worry_ , she told him, letting the words echo through his mind.

Sphere snarled. A golden-orange arm flung through the air, and the side of her face erupted with pain from eye to jaw.

With a shriek she yanked her magic back, returning it to its place inside of her. Sphere stared at her with such vehemence that she sunk far below him, pressing her body to the earth and quivering. Never, in all of their time together, had he lifted a single claw against her.

“That…that devilry,” he growled. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head, like he was trying to dislodge it. “ _Never_ use it again. You cannot invade another being like that. You cannot do it so casually, claiming it as something to perfect. Do you understand what horrors such an evil can do?!”

She stared at his feet, shaking. “N-no,” she stuttered.

“Then clearly you have not thought about the implications of your own actions! You cannot use power recklessly simply because you can!”

“I…I…” This was all wrong! He was supposed to be impressed, not angry! “…I just wanted to show you that I was ready for soul-magic.”

Sphere turned away with disgust. “You have shown me nothing but your own ineptitude.” He got up and turned his back to her, wings extended. “I will leave you to think about what you have done.”

He left her then, soaring into the clouds above. She held her head and clenched her eyes shut, cursing herself for such stupidity. How could she have been so blind?

Mental magic was a mistake. She would never use it again.

* * *

She was fully prepared this time.

The half-moon gave a weak light onto the isle below, casting its blue-green waters in a ghostly light. It was a huge, craggy place, with plenty of places to hide in the darkness. The few shrubs that vegetated it were all but dead from the heat of the hot springs that pockmarked the isle, and the air above it was shrouded in mist.

She hovered inside the fog, allowing it to mask her form and sending great bouts of it drifting on either sides of her wings. Sphere was nowhere in sight—a good sign. She took in a deep breath to steady herself, forcing her shaking limbs to become as still and cold as steel.

They had vowed not to fail this time. The children _would_ survive.

Still, doubt ate away at her. Even in the year they had waited, her girth had only grown larger. All it would take would be one parent that looked down to the island—and they would see a shadow-cloaked dragon twice their size gathering up all of the babies.

She had realized that, in that event, she would almost certainly die. As big as she was, she couldn’t fight off a good dozen or two dragons that had plenty of magic and fire at their disposal. Which made their mission all the more invaluable; a “next time” might not even be a possibility.

A faint hissing rose from somewhere off to her left. She began to twist her head to face it before stopping herself, allowing only one of her eyes to watch in that direction. Lately she had been having trouble focusing on objects directly in front of her. Sphere had told her it was because her eyes were growing further apart as she developed larger in size, and that eventually she would have to watch as a Two-Walker does to get the clearest view of something.

She had more important things to worry about.

As if to reinforce the thought, the entire sky exploded with light where the hissing had once been. She fluttered in shock momentarily; the ball of soulfire was just so _big!_ She could have easily fit inside it if she curled up a little bit.

Thanking the gods for giving Sphere the strength for such an enormous spell, she tucked her wings in and plummeted towards the island. The adults were already rising to meet the ball of fire, some lighting their own fires in their mouths. None of them noticed her as she swept past them, too focused on the confusing and strange oddity that had boomed into existence above their hatchling-grounds.

Taking extra care to land softly, she got to work with renewed vigor. The babies in her direct line of sight woke at the massive vibrations she sent through the ground, lifting their heads and tilting them. She crouched down low and nuzzled the nearest child—a precious little Flame-Skin with magenta scales—and lifted her massive wingspan over the surrounding nests. Already, children were wobbling towards her on unsteady legs, seeking comfort from the shadows she cast.

In but a few seconds she had at least fifteen children before her. She was disappointed to see no Shadow-Blenders—part of her wanted to make up for the atrocity of the last one with another—but she wasn’t going to be picky. Each and every single one of them was perfect, beautiful in their own way.

“Hello, my children,” she greeted, lowering her head next to the tiny flare. “Your mother wants to take you somewhere wonderful.”

The children stared at her, confused. An easy grin split across her face; how silly, to think that they could understand words yet.

“Up, up,” she encouraged them in a singsong voice. Sliding her wing underneath their tiny feet, she lifted them up to her back and allowed them to slide onto her spines. Twisting her head, she watched with a gentle grin as they clung to her with their pinprick claws. How adorable that clinging instinct was, really!

She spread her wings and lifted off the ground with a little too much excitement. The water from the hot springs rose up to meet her, drenching her underside. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to check on the children. They seemed stricken, but otherwise alright.

“Well done, my children,” she whispered to them. “Now we’ll—“

“Our hatchlings! _Our hatchlings!_ ”

The screech filled every bone in her body with dread. She didn’t think, didn’t look back—she opened her magic reserves and flung herself into the night, gritting her teeth as the childrens’ grips considerably tightened. Any faster, and she’d throw them off.

Sphere ended his spell as abruptly as it had been brought forth, sending darkness crashing back into the sky. She could hear their rapid wingbeats as they pursued her and smell the thick, musky scent of their fear.

And then her vision was filled with them.

Three of the dragons all but winked into existence in front of her, forcing her to backpedal and pull into a hover. They were old, by the dullness of their scales and strength of their magic they had used to catch up with her—so old, she was shocked that they could still reproduce. One was a black Two-Walker, one a cream-and-orange Two-Head, and the last an aqua Shrill-Scream.

The Two-Walker bared his teeth. “Release our hatchlings, stranger.” Each word was like the breaking of ice, harsh and brittle.

 _Where are you, Sphere?!_ She begged to her companion. She risked glancing about for him, only for her heart to fill with dread. The adults had completely surrounded her— _all_ of them.

They were going to take her children from her!

“ _Stay back!_ ” She screeched, shooting off a thick, dark orange flame above the elders. To their credit, they did not flinch away from the warning shot, only narrowing their eyes. The children whimpered to her for comfort, and a bolt of adrenaline shot through her. If these foolish adults and elders attacked, they would kill the babies!

“You’re completely surrounded,” the Shrill-Scream hissed in a voice like a waterfall. “Those hatchlings are not yours. You did not lay their eggs, watch over them, show them their way into the world. Return them to their families.”

She shook her head, eyes wildly twisting back and forth. If she were not carrying the children, she could easily fly away. But she couldn’t prompt an attack.

“I won’t hurt you if you let us pass!” She gasped. “We will not harm you in any way!”

An adult, young from the sound of his voice, let loose a roar of outrage. “She has my son!”

“She has my daughters!”

“ _She has my entire brood!_ ”

 _No, no, no!_ All rationale fell apart like sand. They weren’t going to let her pass! They would never listen to her!

A thought hit her. A terrible, horrible thought.

Her mind wandered to the ball of shadow at her forehead, her magic that invaded the mind. She remembered Sphere’s words and shuddered.

But…the children needed her—needed them! And—!

A flash of green light, a boom—and the elders were gone.

“ _FLY!_ ” Sphere bellowed directly above, his dorsal spines lit with lime soulfire.

She burst through the hole the elders had taken up, sparing the time to spin and spew magic-enhanced flames in a half-circle. The dragons screamed in agony and shock, a few falling out of the sky with smoldering scales.

She twisted and pedaled her wings as fast as they would go, willing the children to hold on just a little stronger. The ocean became as smooth as ice below, the clouds stretched out to ridiculous lengths. The poor babies whimpered and cried, but there was no choice, no other means of escape. She flew and flew and flew until the sun breached through the ocean.

They had picked a new home for the dragons—one that would surely bring about success. It was, in fact, similar to most hatchling-grounds; a desolate, warm island far in the south. Sphere had hypothesized that the cold, dark cave they had housed the children in previously had somehow hindered their growth.

She circled the island twice to make sure it was uninhabited. Then she fluttered down and landed as gently as her aching muscles would allow, gasping for air and eyes filled with specks of neon darkness.

Lying down, she half-extended her wings onto the soft grass to allow the children down. They slid down on quaking legs before crawling under the safety of her wingspan, occasionally giving soft chirps and squeals.

“Shh, my children,” she said, lifting her wings to look at them. “Do not be frightened. You are perfectly safe now. I promise.”

* * *

She was never more relieved to see Sphere.

There he was, two days later…and sporting a new scar. His movements were oddly slow and weary, although he snorted and shook his head when she voiced her fears at the horrible sight.

“A little battle won’t make this old dragon die out,” he said, leaning into her as she embraced him with all she had. At her stern look, he grinned and slipped away. “How are the hatchlings?”

“You can see for yourself,” she said somewhat hesitantly, lifting her wings and twisting her body so that he could see behind her. The children were currently playing on the silky grass of the island, too young to realize how vulnerable they were out in the open. She would have much rather they play by the craggy cliffs that rose up and down as abruptly as ocean waves—at least that way, there would be plenty of places to hide in.

“Beautiful,” Sphere breathed, settling down beside her and leaning into her, resting his head against her side. Again his joints moved a little too shakily, his voice a little too hoarse. “They are strong. The last ones…,” he closed his eyes momentarily at the awful memory, “…the last ones were weaker. I distinctly remember how ill the Shadow-Blender was…maybe she spread it to them.”

“Perhaps,” she said. He seemed cold, so she wrapped a wing around him and purred. He returned it much more quietly, still stubbornly trying to show that he was fine.

They sat for a long time, watching their children frolic through the small meadows. Their little darlings were as happy as they could be—and well-fed, too. She had made _extra_ sure of that.

Yet…why did her heart ache with anxiety?

* * *

She was losing them again.

“Eat, please!” She begged the magenta Flame-Skin, nudging the regurgitated fish towards him.

“Eat,” her child grumbled—one of the few words he knew. He turned away and fluttered his wings, doing his utmost to lift from the ground. When he fell not even a few meters into the air she snapped her head out to catch him.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she looked towards the rest of the island. Sphere was downhill, in one of the meadows that their home had to offer. He had curled his long, sleek body around the babies and extended his wing out over them. Currently he was sleeping almost as a swan does, twisting his neck around to rest on the small of his back between his wings.

This Flame-Skin had been the first to become ill. It had pained her and Sphere to do so, but they had been forced to separate him from the rest of the nest; they knew that if he were allowed to stay with the rest, his brothers and sisters would suffer his fate as quick as dry grass catching aflame.

 _No_ , she thought. _Never again._ Lowering her head, she gently slid the Flame-Skin off of her nose and onto the grass next to the fish.

“Go on, my child,” she said. “Have some of this. It will make you feel so much better.”

The Flame-Skin sniffed at the fish and wrinkled his nose, twisting his serpentine body away and slumping into the grass. He looked like a bag of leathery, bony flesh—not the proud dragon he should be. Every rib jutted from his frail torso, his limbs merely twigs. From his wheezing, thin breaths, even a blind dragon would be able to tell that he had not eaten for days.

He wasn’t listening. Just like the last children, he refused to follow their advice—and it was _killing him._

Throwing her head up, she set her eyes on the heavens. Nothing but the twilit sky met her searching, desperate eyes.

“Please, give me the power to help him,” she prayed. Letting her head hang close to the ground, she choked, “Oh, please…please let me save him.”

The Flame-Skin nudged her leg, and she made sure to plaster a reassuring smile on her face before she lifted her head to meet his eyes. Her poor child stared up with eyes cloaked in a film of white. With a soft whine he turned and limped deeper into the shadows cast by the near-set sun. When he turned to look back at her, she saw nothing but the faint moonlight reflecting off his eyes, the dying sunlight outlining the jutting ribs and hips where his skin had stretched taught over.

Her mouth parted slightly. A small, despaired gasp managed to rip its way from her throat. She turned back up to the sky and whispered, “Is it truly what you want?”

The stars were just barely visible. The grass whistled in the breeze. The ocean was as calm as it had been for days.

She turned to her child and drew close, settling down next to him and resting a wing over him. Closing her eyes, she looked to the ball of shadows at the center of her forehead. For a moment she hesitated.

The shadow writhed against her touch, but it was a futile effort to take her over. Leaning down to place a small kiss on her child, she allowed the shadow to rush into his mind. For a moment the shock of it wrestled to knock her over; the sudden fear, confusion, and _pain._

 _Don’t worry, my love_ , she whispered. The Flame-Skin looked up at her with glossy eyes.

As tenderly as she could, she nipped at her child’s scruff and lifted him off the ground, lumbering over to where his dinner had been set out for him. She shuddered as she felt the sensations that he felt, saw the world sway through his eyes. Everything was a huge blur to him, unfocused and strange. It struck her how ill her precious baby really was, how easy it was to miss the signs.

She set him down next to the fish. _Eat_ , she asked of him. _Please._

“Eat,” her Flame-Skin said. He pawed the meal towards him and paused, staring down at it. Then, like a toddler, he began to pick away at it, forcing down little bits of fish down his throat. It sickened him. He hated everything about it. Yet he did as he was told, and did not stop until his belly was about to burst.

Smiling, she jerked the shadow back, ignoring the furious way it tried to wrench free of her hold. Leaning down to nuzzle her well-fed child, she whispered, “Well done, my child.”

* * *

She was completely blindsided.

The gods had given her confirmation of what she had to do. They had given her permission to defy Sphere. And when she had, her child had done as she’d said—he’d helped himself to grow stronger.

So why…so why…?!

The children looked like living skeletons, huddled together for what meager warmth they could provide each other.

Sphere came running at her pained outcry, only to stumble over himself when his eyes caught the horrid sight. He stood, ears pinned and mouth gaping, and crouched low. “I’m finding a healing-dragon,” he said in a calm, toneless voice. In a flurry of wingbeats he had disappeared, utilizing his magic to become nothing but an orange blur in the sky.

She waited until he was gone. When she was certain he had not turned around, she forced the shadow out and sent it flying into the minds of the hatchlings.

 _Pain_.

There was so much of it. Never had she used her magic on this many dragons before; she’d never had the chance. Her head pulsed with the effort, and she clenched her eyes shut as the memories and thoughts and emotions of _fifteen_ dragons swamped her entire being. It was all she could do not to be overwhelmed, to lose sight of herself in their suffering.

 _Children_ , she called to them. _Tell me what ails you so. Let your mother help you!_

The children heard her—she felt them register her voice, understand what she wanted. The purple Flame-Skin made a blatant effort to ignore her, deciding to try to sleep instead. A few of his brothers and sisters were too caught up in their own pain to even try to respond, hoping that someone else would instead.

A tiny Forest-Cutter attempted to squeak a response, but found no strength other than to call out, _I can’t._

Her heart shattered. Her teeth grit with enough force to tire her jaw, and her body trembled with rage.

 _I’m going to help you, my children_ , she promised them. The hope that rose in their innocent hearts nearly ripped her resolve in two, but she continued, _I’m going to make sure that you will be healthy._

Spreading a shielding wing over them, she held them close and pushed all her strength into them. She dug deep into their essence and searched for something— _anything_ —that was the evil behind their failing health. She poured magic into them the traditional way to offer their bodies the power to continue living on.

And with her mind she made sure they were at peace. She spoke kind, gentle words to them. She let memories of happy times in her life pass from her to them. She showed them memories of what they used to be, to give them the resolve to survive.

It took hours, but soon her magic dwindled. First went her physical magic—always the weaker of the two. She was able to keep her mental magic present all the way until the sun broke the sky the next day.

The effort of reeling her mental magic in was staggering. It swirled against her hold, hissing and biting. It wanted revenge, it wanted to inflict on others the sorrows it bore. With a mighty pull she thrust it back inside herself, panting at the effort it took.

She couldn’t help it—she fell asleep.

And when she woke, the children were cold.

She leaped to her feet and launched her shadow into them—only for it to curl around their minds as if they were shielded.

“No!” She screamed. She nudged every last one, desperate for the slightest movement, the barest hint of warmth. “No, no, _NO!_ ”

The children did not respond.

Nothing did.

* * *

She was furious.

Even from the distance, she could see Sphere’s silhouette against the sky. He was alone.

He reached the island before a growl could even escape her, mouth and claws filled to the brim with healing leaves. Without sparing her a glance he galloped to their children, gnawing on some of the leaves and whispering to the children that he had a special treatment for them. So earnest and frantic were his actions, he seemed not to notice that he was attempting to heal corpses.

“Sphere.” Her voice was ice. The shadow within her screamed and howled.

His head twitched towards her, but he continued with his work. Separating foliage, mashing some together, enchanting some with magic and thrusting fire onto them so that they would become golden-orange embers. It was healing-magic in its most complex and potent form, especially with the particular plants he had found. Watching him busy himself, a thought struck her:

If he had been earlier, they would have survived.

 This time the word came out as a curse. “ _Sphere_ ,” she snarled. He stopped, paused, tilted his head. His long, slender wings fell to the ground. Lifting a shaking paw, he nudged the nearest child to him with his claws.

The plants in his mouth fluttered to the ground. He sunk to the earth and wrapped his serpentine body around the children, clenching his eyes shut. “May the Dragoness of the Moon guide you,” he breathed.

“Where were you?!” She exploded. Sphere snapped his head up, eyes wide. “You were gone for so long—there was nothing that I could, nothing!”

Sphere looked down at the children and hung his head. “The healing plants required for such powerful spells are exotic this far south. I—“

“That doesn’t explain why it happened _again!_ ” She screeched. She squared her feet and spread her wings to their fullest extent, casting him in shadows. “You say you know how to take care of them, but it is very clear that the opposite is true! They need more than food and water, they need _something_ that you don’t know!”

Sphere watched her with a tight, pained frown. “I have long since been in this world to know how to care for young,” he said, his voice thin and wavering. “I was a hatchling myself, and I have lived in the company of dragons lucky enough to have their own.” He leaned down and nuzzled the children. “Oh, little ones….please forgive me.”

He stood up as fast as his elderly legs would allow and walked towards her. She shrunk away, bearing her teeth. Despite being small enough to fit his head in her mouth, his approach still sent adrenaline prickling down her spine.

Sphere stopped but a winglength away from her. His eyes dug into her, hard and calculating. She found herself looking away guiltily, for reasons she couldn’t comprehend.

“You are so full of anger, my student.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Of course I am. The children are dead for reasons we cannot comprehend…for reasons that should not be so.”

Sphere’s jaw set. “Yes…” He let his voice trail off and watched her, expectant. She shifted in place, held his gaze, and said nothing.

“Very well,” he said. Turning away, he mumbled, “Let us tend to the hatchlings.”

She looked away. Shame filled her in a torrential downpour, flooding her from within. It had happened again. The children were dead. She knew nothing of caring for dragon hatchlings, but she had still tried—she had still thrown her soul into it!

Her eyes widened. She lifted her head.

“Sphere?”

He stopped grooming the children and lifted his head. His eyes almost seemed hopeful.

She swallowed. “I…I have a suggestion.”

* * *

She was going to make sure they would be successful this time.

They hadn’t waited a year like last time. The second group of children had succumbed to their terrible illnesses within such little time that some nests had yet to leave their hatching grounds.

She limped through the rocky terrain of their island, casting furtive glances to the sky every couple of seconds. It was such a desolate, dry place. With a shudder she held her precious bundle closer to her chest, careful not to hold too tightly.

A loud outcry came from the bundle, filling the barren, volcanic island with sobs. She sat down to cradle it against her chest better, shushing and cooing.

“Ooh, ooh….no, sweet child, don’t you worry,” she sang. She settled down and lay the bundle on her arm, where it fit with plenty of room. Without a second thought, she unlocked the angry shadow within her. It was extremely difficult to make contact with him—but still she persisted, and after several minute’s worth of trying, she managed to find a way in. Her thoughts swarmed around those that were not hers, calming and soothing, until the crying stopped.

She jerked the mental magic back just as the sound of wingbeats came from above. She didn’t move; she’d lived with him long enough to know how he flew.

“I have them,” Sphere panted, smiling uneasily. On his back, several sleepy and bewildered hatchlings clung to the short spikes that ran down his spine.

And in his claws, he held the other half of what she was holding. He set it down against her side, allowing her to tip her head to see it.

“Human hatchlings,” Sphere murmured. She could tell by his tone that he still did not completely agree with it. She had been persistent, though.  “How has it come to this?”

She nuzzled the baby anyways. A perfect baby boy, sleeping soundly despite having being carried at high altitude for quite some time. He would have a brother, the one resting on her arm, and they would grow up strong and healthy.

“I know how to care for them,” she said, keeping her tone light and soft. “They will live.”

“A human cannot fly, nor can they wield magic,” Sphere stated for the umpteenth time, settling down beside her and twisting his neck around to grab each hatchling by the scruff and place them underneath his wing.

“They will learn to love dragons, to know of magic, and to protect our nest,” she said. “If we are to teach a nest of soul-magic, then we will gather attention—and not only from dragons.”

Sphere gave her an odd look. He grew quiet, grooming the babies in silence while she did the same to her own. They remained silent the rest of the night.

* * *

She didn’t know what they were doing wrong.

Again and again they were met with the same and awful sights and smells. Again and again they sought out their family. Again and again they cycled through manic highs and deep depression as their children came in and out of their lives.

No matter the species, no matter the time of year, no matter the location, no matter the supply of healing-leaves, no matter the love they poured into each and every child.

The heartbreak was familiar now, though they were not numb to it. Her shadow was a constant barrage, and Sphere seemed to grow older with each day. She had taken to occasionally practicing her mental magic on him during the night, attempting to heal him as she had tried with the children. If she could just perfect it…if she could just find what had been lost to her, then she could make these horrible tragedies stop.

After all, they had to keep trying. It was the only way they could heal.

* * *

She was feeling hopeful about these ones.

She and Sphere were sitting together, much further south than they had gone ever before. Cradled in her arms were dragon hatchlings and a human child, sleeping soundly. They had survived much longer than the others: a full month. Sphere had obviously been trying to work up the courage to speak to her about something, and she had been amusing herself by guessing when he would actually do it.

Eventually, he spoke. “My apprentice, I have a question that he been with me for many seasons, and I feel it is now appropriate to ask.”

She rolled her eyes. How typical, blurting out his rationale before actually doing something. Sphere had always been the more careful of the two. “Go on.”

“My student…” he paused, collecting his thoughts, and she turned her head to get a full view of him. “Do you still wish to be human?”

She gawked at him, but he was no longer looking at her, but at the babies cradled against her. Looking down at them, she realized with no small amount of horror that she had _forgotten._ She had _forgotten_ that she had been changed into a dragon, even as she prepared to care for babies—she had simply known that she knew how to. Yet she had forgotten what she had become, had stopped spending agonizing nights trying to understand who she was—for countless seasons now.

It was unimaginable to her that she could be human now. To not have her great size and the power that she had awoken inside her beastly body, to never spread her wings and ascend above all who challenged her. To abandon magic, to abandon her mental magic that she alone knew how to do. To abandon her resolve to learn about soulfire so that she could be at peace, and to care for hatchlings so that she could make up for everything that she had done wrong.

“…no,” she breathed. “No, I wish to remain in my dragon body.”

A strange sadness filled Sphere’s eyes. “That does not answer my question, my student, whom I love so deeply.” When she looked to him in confusion, he explained, “I asked you if you wished to be _human_. Not if you wished to regain your human form.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. One of the babies coughed, and she leaned down to make sure that he was alright.

“There are differences between humans and dragons other than form,” Sphere said. “When we first met, you were very much a human in a dragon’s body. It gave me insight on how humans think and feel in the face of loss, and showed me the terror of their wrath. Now we have been together for many full turns of the seasons, and I no longer see this in you.” When she reared her head back, he reached a paw out and let it rest on her arm. “To me, you are now only a dragon—one that did not hatch from an egg, and one whose magic is odd and foreign, but a dragon nonetheless. Is this what you wish?”

Her jaw worked up and down, but she didn’t know what to say. “I…” she tried, and then looked away. “I am no longer the person I once was, yes. And I admit that…I have not thought of my human life or self in a very long time.”

For the first time in well over, she struggled to picture the faces of her children. Her _real_ children. Had they survived, they would be adults now—elderly, with children and perhaps great-grandchildren of their own. Yet all she could imagine now was their slaughtered bodies, their cruel wounds.

She stared at the babies, and Sphere’s words when he had discussed his exile returned to her unexpectedly. _Dragons are selfish creatures. What we do not have, we take._

With a choked cry she leapt to her feet, causing the child that had been resting on her arm to fall and burst into tears. Ignoring Sphere’s concerned gasp, she bolted away, spread her wings, and took off into the sky. The anger that had always been with her surged, overwhelming, and for a moment she let it overtake her.

“ _NO!_ ” She screamed, filling her jaw with gas and sending thick flames about her. The fizzled through the air like an explosion.

When they dispersed, Sphere was in their place.

“Forgive me,” he begged, hovering closer. “This was not my intent. I should not have spoken of such things to you. I am deeply sorry, my apprentice.” He leaned close, pressing their foreheads together, but she pulled away.

“I’m a monster!” She howled, spinning in place, frantically looking for an escape, as if she could simply fly away from her burdens. “I’m just the same as the dragon who killed my children!” Sphere tried to interrupt her, but she wouldn’t let him. “I _stole_ babies and thought I could make them my own! I’ve done nothing but sentence them all to death! I’ve ripped them away from what happiness they could ever have! I’m a _monster!_ ”

“You are _not_ —“ Sphere began.

“ _Get away from me!_ ” With that, she spun and opened her magic reserves, bolting away. She knew Sphere would catch up with her in mere seconds if he ever wanted to.

But he let her go.


	3. Chapter 3

 

She no longer knew what to think.

After flying for an entire day, she’d found an island to crashland on just as the sun was setting. It was small but filled to the brim with life, an enormous forest having taken root straight to the beaches. There she was plagued by a loss she had spent years trying to resolve, a loss that had been used to justify anything and everything she had done, and all of the terrible things she had taken pride in.

She didn’t know what was worse: that she had done such terrible things, or how she had felt so little regret. She didn’t care that she wasn’t human—she hadn’t ever cared, really.

She imagined what her children would think of her now. A monstrous beast, stealing away children of both man and dragon in the night, trying desperately to raise them as they slipped away into their deaths.

She curled up in the mud and resolved one thing: to make it up to her children, _for real_ , by dying where she lied.

* * *

She was dizzy and nauseous by the time that Sphere found her.

The sight of him descending towards her was so ironic that she couldn’t help but laugh. That last time she had been in this exact situation—alone, wasting away by choice—he had simply been able to pick her up and carry her away from the place that haunted her. Now she was well over four times his size, and her ghosts lived inside her now.

“There you are!” Sphere gasped, landing at her side and rubbing his cheek against hers. She wheezed out a greeting, and his spines bristled. “Oh, my apprentice…I should have never let you fly away. I assumed you would return, but I have acted so very, very wrong.” He sat beside her and lay his head on her forehead, leaning into her. “Please forgive me.”

She didn’t blame _Sphere_. She tried to say this much—and stopped.

“Sphere?” She croaked. He pushed his weight into hers, and she suddenly became aware of the way he trembled, the fear-scent a thick musk about him. With what strength she had that remained, she rasped, “The….children?”

Sphere took in a short, choked breath. “The illness took hold of them a few days ago—even the human hatchlings.”

Dread, swift and relentless, knocked the air from her lungs. She was supposed to be their mother. She was supposed to be taking care of them. They may had not been her children before, but they had become hers the moment she’d found—no, _taken_ them. Yet she had only focused on her actions and not their consequences. She had had a responsibility to them, had vowed to protect them.

And they were going to die.

Strength reawoke in her, and with a groan she pushed her feet underneath her massive, heavy body and pushed herself up.

Sphere backed up, his full height only reaching to her chest despite his long, swanlike neck. “You cannot fly,” he scolded, flaring his wings. “Not in your condition.”

“Children…need us,” she panted. “Alone…scared…vulnerable.”

Sphere’s eyes narrowed. “It will do no good if you lose consciousness and fall into the ocean.” He maintained eye contact and went on, “Your value far outweighs even that of a whole nest. You are my family, and I will protect you—even from yourself.”

She swayed in place, wanting to dismiss his heartfelt words, wanting to _force_ him to listen. “Then…heal me.”

“Magic does not replace food and water.”

“ _I know!_ ” She snapped, pounding a foot into the ground. Sphere didn’t flinch, somehow holding back a creature several times his size through force of will alone. “So…heal me! Let me…be able…to fly!”

“I will not.” Sphere sat down, and the exhaustion and dizziness forced her to stay. She wanted to scream; Sphere was right, but his healing-magic _could_ give her the strength to make it back to the children. His harsh tone softened, and he said, “Please, my student…rest. They are lost, but you…you don’t have to be, as well.”

She lowered her head, teeth grit, and growled. “I can…heal them.”

“We can’t.” Sphere sounded so broken and shattered that it held back her anger. He hung his head, his snout mere inches from the ground. “Nothing we do, no matter how we prepare…no matter that I had collected healing-leaves before we even found the hatchlings…nothing.” He shook, and with a start she realized that she could see that his scales were dull, his body thin. “I fear that my use of soulfire is the cause of this. The gods are angry.”

She waited for her breathing to even out a little bit more before speaking, “The gods…wanted me…to use mental magic.”

Sphere’s head snapped up, and he leapt to his feet and spread his wings, tail held high and spines bristling. Horror came upon him, quickly melting into fury.

“You used _mental magic_ on them?!” He hissed. “When? For how long?”

“The second ones,” she wheezed. “I tried to…find out—“

“You could have _killed them!_ ” Sphere snarled. He stopped abruptly, eyes widening. “They always…spent the most time with you...”

She raised her lip at him, showing mangled teeth. “My magic did _not_ kill them!”

“No,” he agreed. “But it is an altogether different evil, one that would only progress what had started.” He stared her down and demanded, “How can you use such monstrous magic on innocent beings barely grasping to life? How can you take away what little they have, _invade_ them?”

“I could get them…to eat,” she hissed. “I could speak…comfort them.”

For the first time in her life, she saw Sphere truly frightened.

“You… _controlled_ them?” He widened his stance, lowering his head, eyes full of pain and muscles tense.

“Only…to feed them!” She said, wanting to howl at him that she had never intentionally done them harm. How many times had their children refused to eat? How many times had her encouragement allowed them to live just a moment longer?

Sphere shook his head. “You…Kings and Queens who exert such force…who turn their nests to slaves…they are the most contemptable of all creatures.” He took in a shuddering breath. “To do such a terrible thing to _hatchlings_ …too young to understand, ready to join the Dragoness of the Moon…”

“I can try…harder,” she said. Her head was spinning, and it wasn’t getting any easier to breathe. “I can _force_ …the illness away…comfort them…in their final moments.”

Sphere bared his teeth. “If you even try, I will not hesitate to put an end to it.” He opened his wings to their full length and growled softly, tail swishing. “I have done great evil in these past seasons, and these memories fill my soul with regret. But you are mad, to think that you can justify such terrible actions.”

She stared into his eyes. She had to get back to the children. Sphere was right, but she _had_ to. If she could comfort them in even the smallest way, was it not worth the struggle? Even if mental magic had evil inside it, she was using it for _good!_ If the children were going to die, she wanted them to be at peace—not alone, frightened, and confused!

The shadow inside her clawed at its confines, screaming.

She rose to her feet once more, ignoring how her vision blackened and her ears rang. “Step aside, Sphere.”

Sphere opened his jaw wide and snarled, showing her the gas he was building up within, a fire that would surely kill her at this range. “ _I will not!_ ”

“I _must_ help the children!” She took a step forward, and Sphere inhaled deeply, a lime glow growing deep in his chest.

He was going to attack her. He was going to stop her, and there would be nothing she could do but lie there, wounded and dying, while her children wasted away alone and scared.

Sphere inhaled deeply, the glow reaching its peak—

—and she released the shadow, plunging it deep into his heart.

She had found ways into his mind more than once. She knew exactly how it felt to have his be a part of hers.

 _Stop_ , she commanded. Sphere’s body shook, his eyes wide and unfocused, but he let his fire die away.

_I am so sorry, Sphere. You are my family, too._

Suddenly something clanged against her shadow, forcing her to gasp and take a step back, her vision white.

“….n….no….”

Sphere was filled with betrayal, pain, and fury—and he was _using_ it, combining it with his magic, forcing his own up to his mind and waging war against her shadow. She squirmed her magic around it, trying to avoid it, not knowing what would happen if she fought back. Suddenly she realized she did not understand mental magic as much as she thought she did.

She did not realize that a dragon could fight it. And she did not know what it would mean to overcome him with her magic.

Sphere opened his maw wider, the glow returning, even as his eyes remained clouded and his limbs became so taught that it was impossible for him to move them. _I will not allow this!_ He screeched at her, his words becoming a thought in her mind. _You cannot overpower me!_

His magic was gaining ground, shoving her shadow away. She held still, distraught. She understood now what she had done. To win meant to control Sphere. To lose meant to sacrifice her children, to die at the claws of the only family she had had in decades, and the only family _he_ had had for much longer.

_Sphere, I truly wish that I had another way. I love you like a brother._

_Then release me from your hold!_

_The children will die if I do not._

_The hatchlings will die regardless!_

_They need me._

_You are becoming the monster you so deeply feared! You are stepping into darkness and expecting to find light! Do not continue, my student, or you will lose yourself and become nothing but a creature of empty suffering!_

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

 _…I am sorry, Sphere. But I must help the children in any way that I can—even if it means that I must defeat you_.

Sphere was so aghast at this that his defense faltered.

She swarmed his mind with her shadow, stifling his magic at its roots and chasing it away. She felt his terror and pain, and destroyed that too. She felt his desire to resist, and swept it aside, locking it away inside folds of her magic. She encompassed his mind with her love— _this is for the sake of you and the children_ —and bestowed upon him the memories of her time using mental magic on the hatchlings, how she had felt them at peace before they had died, and how it had been her sole comfort in her time of mourning.

She blinked, and the physical world refocused around her. Sphere was lying on his side, eyes clouded, breathing labored. She found herself struggling to catch her breath, limbs shaking.

“Sphere?” She asked. She felt him hear her, and his head twitched in her direction, but nothing else.

 _Sphere?_ She tried again.

This roused him more to action. He felt compelled to answer her now. He felt submissive. He felt fearful. He was confused; he didn’t know why he felt so invaded and repulsed, nor why he was not with the children. He knew that the hatchlings were dying, and that she could—and _would_ heal them. He knew that she loved him, and that he loved her, and that seemed to be enough. He was altogether distant and lethargic, but this was good—this meant that he would no longer hurt himself or her by mindlessly resisting.

“Yes?” He murmured.

_Please heal me. Give me the strength to return to the children._

* * *

She was a terrible creature.

Sphere had done as he was told. He had tried to recall his complex healing magic, but could only come up with even the basics until she specifically pulled her shadow back from that knowledge. It baffled her that she could pick and choose what he remembered and how he felt, how she could fill his mind with her thoughts and make them think they were his. If she could utilize this in some way, she would be able to heal the children, wouldn’t she?

After allowing Sphere to wander off in search of healing-leaves, she realized that even at great distances she could maintain her shadow with very little effort, and see and feel what he did. When he had returned, he poured significant amounts of his magic into them, sealed them with fire, and presented them to her. Eating them did nothing to sate her hunger and dehydration, but it at least gave her the strength to stand and to speak without gasping for air.

She opened her wings, glancing at Sphere and still not believing that he wasn’t going to suddenly break free, declare that he had been pretending to be under her control the entire time, and attack her.

_Sphere, do you hate me?_

He tipped his head to the side. He couldn’t comprehend hating her when she loved him so much, and when that love was returned. He had gone out of his way to heal her, after all. Why hate her? She had a noble cause—to use her newfound mental magic to heal the dying hatchlings, or to let them live their final moments contently instead of in agony.

“No, my student.”

Her breath caught for reasons she did not wholly understand.

_Why does this hurt, Sphere?_

He had no answer. His mind was too shrouded, and she pulled back her shadow just a little bit. At this, a noticeable change overcame him—he blinked, shifted, shook his head, and began to reflect on his memories. Suddenly he was confused, caught in a horrible anger and only knowing that it was her fault. He knew she loved him, and that he loved her, but now he wondered if he was being forced. He knew she was doing something to him. He knew, deep down, that the mental magic was wrong—but it was necessary, was it not? He mulled over his thoughts, turning them around and around in an attempt to make sense of them. New ones came slowly, and ones she had ingrained into him threatened to overpower the thoughts that he invented himself.

Eventually, he locked his dead, clouded eyes on her and settled on:

“It hurts because you have stolen part of me.”

He did not hate her. He knew he should. But the words felt empty to him. Part of him desperately wanted to fight, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

She choked, turning away.

_I am so, so sorry, Sphere. I didn’t mean for it to be like this._

“I know you didn’t.”

_You are incapable of fighting me. Of disagreeing with me._

“That is your doing.”

 _What will_ you _do?_

“It seems that I cannot.”

The pain and fear was too much. She was a monster, but she _had_ to do this! She had to at least _try_ to save the children, and he had forced her into this! He should have listened to her! This was his fault!

“Is it really?” Sphere asked, wounded, and she started at the realization that she had been projecting her emotions into him.

 _Sphere, please forgive me. Stay here, and I will return to the children. You may come back to me, but please,_ please _know that everything I have done today, I have done it for their sake, and ours._

_I love you._

She took off before he could respond, trying to ignore his thoughts, but it was too much. He did as he was told, watching her go. He was upset, but he felt content to do as she said—doing so was so much easier than resisting, after all, and it was for the greater good, just like she said. He knew distantly that she was flying off to hatchlings that may very well already be dead. He considered very briefly taking wing after her, and all it took was for her to gently push the thought aside for it to be erased from him completely, forgotten.

When she was gone from his sight, he waited, unsure of what would come for him. He yearned for this strange hold on him to fade away, but at the same time, the thought of being without it scared him. He couldn’t remember what it was like _not_ to have her be a part of him. He wondered what the “real him” would do. He seemed to know that she was only partially controlling him, and was grateful for such.

When she was far, far away, she tried to pull her shadow back—and couldn’t.

She began to sob. She tried and tried, but it hissed and rebelled, clutching at him greedily.

_Sphere?_

“Yes?” He answered aloud, still on the island, but she still heard it as clearly as if he were right next to her.

_Sphere, I am truly a monster. I cannot release you._

He knew this should upset him, but accepted it nonetheless. “Why?”

_I don’t know!_

“You have given me partial control. Concentrate, and broaden it.” He didn’t remember that he had resisted at all, but he did remember that she had had to “give” him his knowledge of healing-magic back. She had not thought to erase that from him.

_Right…right. I will try to pull more of it back._

Instead of trying to rip the shadow away all at once, she began inching it back bit by bit. More than once she realized that she was focusing so much on it that she was flying in the wrong direction, circling, or flying dangerously close to the ocean. The shadow writhed at her touch, furious, but could not fight back. Bit by bit, Sphere became a little more himself.

She had nearly reached the island when all she had left was a tiny hold on him: control over his anger at her. This was done purposefully, selfishly, fearfully—both of them were aware of it.

“You have done a truly terrible thing.” He lifted himself into the air, full of betrayal and sorrow, and flew after her. “I do not know how I can forgive you, my student, for now I have seen what the true workings of your mind are, and now I know that despite your regret you still feel justified.”

He wanted so desperately to put this behind them, to regain the family that he had come to rely on. But he knew that what she had done was unforgiveable. He also knew that she was still influencing him, that he was not feeling what he should be because she was preventing it.  His body was shaking with anger, gas filtering between his teeth, and he had yet to be fully released.

_I only want to save the children, Sphere!_

 “That is not an excuse and you know it.”

_I know…I know._

“Do you?”

_I am frightened, Sphere. I know that when I let you go, you may leave me forever._

“You do not have the right to make that decision for me.”

She let up some more. A terrible torrent of pain and loss overcame him. He stopped following her and drew up into a hover, taking in a sharp breath. There was a sudden, physical change, as the full brunt of what she had done reached him, as he fully realized what he had become—however briefly—and that she had done it to him willfully. His mind began racing in illogical circles, so torn apart by the betrayal of the one dragon he had grown close to, of the multiple losses of hatchlings that he had grown to love, all culminating into a singular belief: that he had truly deserved to be exiled, and that the gods were using her as a vessel of divine punishment. She could do nothing but watch from afar as his thought processes crumbled, as his mind swam with raw emotions, as they overtook all logic and held tight.

_Sphere, no! You do not—_

“ _Leave me! Leave me!_ ” Sphere wept. He let out a mindless scream, flew in a circle, and then called forth soulfire and spat it into the air.  Pain filled his entire body from the use of the soul-magic, and his mind flew to the times he had used it to steal hatchlings—and he _howled_ , he howled like a rabid beast ready to charge. He knew now, he knew that he had become an evil being, swept away by empty promises.

And now he knew that he had created something exponentially more monstrous. “No! No! _NO!_ ”

Watching her beloved friend and mentor shatter, unable to console him, she felt something inside her shift. The shadow droned in her mind, content.

Her horror finally let up enough for her to act. With a final strain, she snapped all of her shadow back into her. It was like a physical slap, and her head filled with more agony than she could bear. Yet the pain of what she had just witnessed struck far deeper than any sword, and her vision filled with tears as she wailed and wept, and she stopped flapping, letting herself fall, hoping that she would meet her end and knowing that she wouldn’t. She hit the ocean just outside the shore and limped her way onto land, more alone than she had ever been in her life, knowing that she was more a monster than the one that had transformed her in the first place.

Even from where she was, she could smell it. The fear, the illness.

She found them, fell to the ground, and screamed.

* * *

She was a monster.

She shrieked until her voice had left her and ripped the foliage of the island to shreds. When she had leveled the forest and eaten all of its inhabitants, she set it aflame and watched it burn. When the ashes filled the air and formed a dense blanket on the ground, she turned her attention to the stones, shredding them beneath her claws like flesh and reducing them to pebbles.

After several days, the island was nothing but a resting place for the dead. The forest. The children. Her companionship with Sphere, the dragon who surely now hated her with all of his soul.

She was furious to find that her mindless violence had not satisfied her anger. The shadow slithered through her mind, whispering encouragements, and that at least made her feel a little better.

She wanted to stay, in case Sphere returned. But it was becoming more apparent by the day that he would not.

Ten days after she had returned, she opened her wings, took one last look at the destruction that she had wrought, and took flight. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t care. She merely picked a direction and held steady.

She flew and flew. The full moon rose.

And then she found something. An entire island, inhabited by humans, covered in lime-green flames.

“No,” she breathed, changing course and opening her magic reserves to fly faster. She saw a slim figure flitting about through the fire, diving on small, fleeing figures and breathing soulfire on them.

She was a monster herself, but her poison had transformed her only true friend into one as well.

“ _SPHERE!_ ” She bellowed, charging above the island and scanning the terrain for him. She couldn’t see him, not when he was hiding among the fires of the same color as his soulfire.

There was movement to her right. She twisted and took a sharp intake of air, seeing only the blur of neon before it was too late. They fell down, smashing into a house, and her sheer weight crushed it to splinters.

Sphere leapt off her, snarling and shaking his head. He paced in a circle, wings and tail dragging on the ground. Suddenly his head shot up and he hissed, shooting a thick stream of soulfire into a building. It crumbled. He turned and pawed at the ground, eyes flitting back and forth too fast for him to see anything.

“Sphere,” she whispered. He whipped around to face her. His eyes, once filled with warmth and patience, were now wild and ravenous.

“Will you control me again?” His voice was far calmer than she expected.

She swallowed, working her way out of the remains of the house, and took in the acid flames about them. “Sphere, why?”

“I am a monstrous dragon, using soul-magic for such terrible deeds.” He raised his lip, taking in the destruction about him. “But so are the dragons who exiled me out of something so trivial as jealousy. So are the humans who kill dragons on sight for sport. The world is full of monsters—I’m just one of them, and so are you.” He stared deep into her. “It’s only a matter of time for all of us. We all lose the purity inside us.”

“But…” She couldn’t speak, seeing the dragon she’d loved as a brother driven so mad, so cruel.

He scoffed. “I don’t expect _you_ to understand. I am merely using my gift to do what is natural. The nature of this world does not lie in simple categories. We try to partition things into subjects and labels, yet all of it is fighting the natural tendency of this world: disorder.” For a moment Sphere frowned, as if realizing the madness he was spewing, but he physically shook it off.

“Regardless. Those like you who depend on this order are not very well-inclined to the way of life that was intended for us. And that is what traps us in this endless cycle of hatred. Only those willing to accept this reality may understand what the true reality of peace is. If I work hard enough, I will eliminate the world of all evil. I’ve already found a nest with the descendants of many of the dragons who participated in driving me from the north.” This was said with pride, and she could not bear to ask what had become of them. “As for all good causes, sacrifices must be made, and the innocent sometimes find themselves in times of turmoil.”

She has no words to say to such flawed, shortsighted logic. She almost thought that she was dreaming, to hear such nonsense come from _Sphere._

“Sphere…please…” she fought to remain in-control, but it was getting hard. She was so angry at herself for letting this happen, the shadow was overwhelming.

“You did this.” He grinned when she lowered herself submissively. “Know that this—all of this is your fault. I may have been punished, but so are you—for developing that horrible magic.”

The shadow screamed in defiance. “I-I’m—I’m s-sorry—“

“ _Too late._ ” Sphere seethed. He lunged at her, spines gleaming.

She dodged away, flinching at the feeling of his claws on her side, and took flight. She fled away from the burning village, towards one of the many islands that surrounded it. In her peripheral vision, she could see Sphere giving chase, but he was holding back.

He shot soulfire at her, and she couldn’t move out of the way in time. It hit her back, seeping deep into her flesh and burning her both outside and in. With a strangled cry she fell, landing onto a small islet that was almost perfectly circular in shape. She struggled to stand, weeping, but couldn’t find the strength in her. Sphere alighted on the opposite end of the island.

“You are the more monstrous between the two of us,” he said, taking a step forward. She curled up into a ball. “You were the one who drove me to think of stealing hatchlings, just for your sake, so you could recover. You were the one who used mental magic on the hatchlings, which most likely killed them. You were the one who betrayed me.”

“I was!” She choked, squeezing her eyes shut and holding her head in her paws. “It’s true! It’s true! I’m so sorry!”

“So you agree you deserve punishment?” Sphere asked.

She couldn’t answer, dissolving into breathless sobs.

“Very well.”

She opened her eyes and looked up to see him standing over her, his face cast in odd, dark shadows from the glow of his spines, wing extended, jaw stretched as wide as possible, throat and chest illuminated with that sickly green color. Through the glow she could she the outlines of his ribs, his spine, the frantic beat of his heart, the movements of his lungs, and the outlines of his blood vessels.

He looked monstrous.

She closed her eyes. Sphere hissed as he built up his soulfire, and she grimaced when she felt the heat rising, knowing that when he was done, she would be nothing but charred remains.

Something went through the air—like a bolt of lightning zipping past, just close enough to be felt but too far away to burn. The ground beneath her rumbled and groaned, and the light filtering through her eyelids became unbearably bright.

She counted her final breaths, if only to keep her despair at bay, and waited.

The heat faded, and Sphere gave a gasp of horror.

Squinting, she lifted her head and peered up at the source of the light.

Her blood turned to ice. Adrenaline locked her muscles in terror, held so tight it became painful. It became impossible to breathe. A feeling of filthiness spread over her, the sins she had committed suddenly borne bare for all to see.

It was too beautiful and terrible for mortal eyes, too great and regal, too graceful and hardy. The moon above shone overwhelmingly, bearing its light like daggers of silver and diamond, cutting straight to their souls.

She couldn’t see Her. She couldn’t understand Her form, only that it was simplified for their dull, stupid eyes into a vague dragonlike figure towering above. Yet it was clear that just beneath the surface was something impossible and endless and divine and _furious._

“ ** _SPHERE,_** ” the Dragoness of the Moon bellowed with a voice of thundering storms and crashing waves, staring down at them with the moon in Her eye socket and spreading the entirety of the ocean out as her wings. Lighting cracked violently, outlining Her scales. She rose even higher, and the entirety of the night sky shifted with her movements. The earth itself seemed to groan under her power. “ ** _YOU HAVE COUNTLESSLY FORASKEN US AND USED OUR BLESSING TO CATALYZE SUFFERING AND TORMENT AMONG INNOCENT BEINGS. YOU HAVE DEFIED THE FINAL WARNING THAT WE SENT TO YOU IN HOPES OF CHANGING YOUR WAYS._** ”

She cowered, pushing herself into the ground and wishing it would swallow her up. She couldn’t help but to risk a glance at Sphere.

He stood with his feet squared, head held high, wings splayed, and soulfire readied.

“ ** _COME PEACEFULLY, SPHERE, IF YOU HAVE BUT A BREATH OF HONOR WITHIN YOU._** ”

The command was Law. There was no defying it. Even the most gruesome of dragons couldn’t have disobeyed. Sphere shook where he stood, standing rooted to the spot.

He bowed his head, the glow of soulfire leaving him, and shuffled forward with drooped wings.

Absolute silence filled the earth, and for a moment she thought she had been deafened by the God’s unearthly voice. She held perfectly still, foolishly pretending that if she did not move, then she could not be seen. As if to prove her wrong, the Dragoness of the Moon tilted her head ever-so-slightly in her direction.

It was the most terrifying and exhilarating moment of her life. She couldn’t move, but was so enamored that she could not look away. She stared into the moon and into the other eye, the eye that seemed to be made of the light of dragons’ souls that danced in the skies. Again the feeling of wretchedness, of pure and hateful sin, crept over her body like an infestation, like she were an insect about to be squashed.

Were her children looking at her through the Dragoness of the Moon?

Something in the otherworldly being shifted, Her unreadable expression becoming less ethereal. Her gaze was a trap, forbidding movement of any kind, bearing all a creature’s deeds for judgement.

And She was looking at the wrong dragon.

A flash of green, a wild roar, and a blast of unearthly heat were all that filled the void they had found themselves in. The Dragoness of the Moon reared backwards, and a tidal wave large enough to capsize a ship crashed over the entire island. Sphere darted into the air high enough to avoid it, while she planted herself to the ground and let the water fly past her like teeth tearing into her scales.

The ground wracked back and forth below them. Deep cracks shot into the islet. Waves crashed hundreds of feet high, and the stars shook and darted about.

Sphere could not hope to fly high enough to reach Her head, and settled for Her exposed throat instead. His body beamed like the sun, and he spewed a torrent of soulfire so bright and hot that it was painful to look at. It shot towards the God, and—!

The Dragoness of the Moon didn’t move. The soulfire went through her and shot off into the night like a meteor.

With a screech of indignation, Sphere rose up and dove, using his speed to swoop past the God and circle round Her neck. He dragged his soulfire with him, making a wider and wider ring with each pass. It did nothing to illuminate the God—it was as if She were made of the night sky itself, which could only ever cast light.

As he twirled round and round, it became apparent: he was making a sphere of soulfire around Her.

The Dragoness of the Moon rose, lifting claws sharp enough to shear mountains. Sphere ducked away, and as he did, She opened her maw and _roared._

It was so loud, so mighty that it had a physical character to it. She felt it crushing her into the ground. The earth around her shifted and cracked under the sheer force of it. A heavy vibration swept through the ground as Sphere, dizzy and deafened, plummeted to the earth. He tried to get up, but the air was too heavy even for him, and he was pushed down.

The only indication that it was over was a sudden lifting of the terrible pressure crushing them to the earth. There was no sound; she was certain that, had she not lost her hearing before, she definitely had now. Shivering, she lifted her head, terrified of what new wonder would meet her eyes.

The ocean was being lifted away. A colossal wave too high to see the top stretched far and wide, taking up the entirety of her vision. She tried to scream at Sphere to stand down but knew that, just like her, he couldn’t hear a thing. Her mentor lifted his wings, his body so brightly lit that he seemed more a creature of fire than a dragon.

The ocean came down on them. Sphere squared his feet and shot a heavy stream of soulfire into the frigid waters. Steam erupted everywhere, and flecks of boiling water sprayed in all directions. The fire was so hot that it evaporated the water on contact. In that moment, when a cloud of steam covered the entire expanse of the island, Sphere darted into the oncoming attack and faded from view.

There was a flash of lime light. The earth shook and the ocean fell, sending wave after wave over the island. Air currents strong enough to push her backwards blasted from above. A horrible light glowed overhead, basking the entire world in the color of blood. It took all of what little courage she still had left to look up.

The moon had turned red.

With a great gust of wind the steam cleared, revealing the God in Her glory. At her chest, where lightning once darted about and where her scales had shone with light, was simply emptiness. It was as if that part of the world had been erased, leaving a hole in reality. Sphere swooped into view like a comet, banking sharply, and shot towards the God’s wound, smoke billowing behind him and soulfire ready.

His entire body froze in place only a few wingbeats away. It was as if invisible ropes had tied him down, locking his limbs in place. He struggled heavily, desperately trying to shift his wings to fly away, but he was held in place like an insect caught in amber.

“ ** _IT WAS ULTIMATELY I WHO ELECTED TO GIFT YOU WITH OUR GREAT KNOWLEDGE._** ”

The Dragoness of the Moon’s voice was the only sound in the entire world, filling her with terror at the reminder of the god’s unearthly power, the ability to transcend the physical realm to make Her intentions known. They were both deaf—that much was clear—yet they could still hear Her wrath. The God leaned down to Sphere’s eye level, and Her size alone was enough to fill the horizon. The moon in Her left eye was bloodied, and in Her right eye, the auroras of millions of dragon’s souls swarmed with outrage.

“ ** _IT IS I WHO BEAR THIS BURDEN, AND THUS IT IS I WHO BEARS THE PUNISHMENT. MY DEBT HAS BEEN FULFILLED._** _”_

Sphere’s body glowed in preparation to fire—and suddenly flickered out, like an ember fading away into the darkness. Sheer horror seemed to fill his very being, his eyes suddenly wide and full of understanding. In his time of greatest need, his soulfire had abandoned him.

“ ** _IT IS NOW YOUR TURN, SPHERE._** ”

He stared into Her eyes—it was the only thing he could possibly do. A small portion of the ocean lifted and swirled around him in thin, delicate strands. The light of Her moon and colors of Her eye shimmered within the waters, giving them a crystalline glow. Despite everything, it was warm and beautiful, like a sun made of smooth waters.

She watched as her mentor was encompassed not in a sphere of rage-fueled soulfire, but instead in one of soothing water, dousing the hatred within. It glowed brighter and brighter, and just as it became too intense, she caught a glimpse of Sphere within. He appeared to be curled up like a sleeping hatchling, wings and tail pulled in and neck curled around his body.

That was all she could take before she had to look away. Something seemed to change—the air itself became lighter, and the flames of the soulfire destroying the Viking village died away, leaving behind an empty world.

She huddled where she was, cast in sudden darkness. When she dared to look up, she jolted in horror at the sight of the Dragoness of the Moon still there.

They looked into each other’s eyes. Her heart was hammering, her breath impossible to catch, her limbs so weighted down by fear that they were impossible to move.

Her vision blackened. A painful _POP_ filled her ears, followed by a shrill ringing and the faint crashing of waves. Agony sliced through her chest as she found it more and more difficult to breathe.

The last thing she was aware of was the shadow within her screaming, filling her body with pain and loss.


	4. Chapter 4

 

She was without purpose.

She had nothing left. No nest, no children, no hope, no motivation…no Sphere. She had only memories that blazed past her eyes when she dared to sleep, only the shadow that grieved and roared and demanded relief.

She carried on simply for the sake of it. She paced from island to island, ravaging the wildlife to fuel her ever-growing body. She was filled with a ravenous hunger; she wanted sustenance, she wanted reprieve from her pain, she wanted what had been unjustly ripped from her, she wanted Sphere to come back to her. She wanted, more than anything, love.

Dragons scarcely approached her, and those she reached out to quickly left her just as lonely and confused and upset as before. She still had the sense to avoid Vikings, turning tail the moment she caught their scent on the wind.

 _It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair_ , she would chant to herself. She knew she had done this to herself, but still she felt blindsided, betrayed by the gods who had set her on this cruel path in the first place. In the end she had tried to do good. She had tried to share her new magic, she had tried to save the children, she had tried to save Sphere from himself. Her reward was the worst pain she could imagine. The more she ruminated, the worse the sting, and all she wanted to know was _what had she done wrong?_

There was no answer in her wanderings.

The pain shifted into anger.

One day, she had enough.

Looking out to sea, she took a deep breath, finding just the barest traces of dragon-scent in the air. It was breeding season. The shadow droned angrily in her ears. She hung her head.

“Dragons are selfish creatures,” she said. “What we do not have, we take.”

* * *

She was wrenching back what ought to have been hers in the first place.

She no longer cared about sneaking and soulfire. She did not waste any more time wallowing in self-despair, begging the gods to forgive her sins. She could not fix the past, and this was the only way that she would be able to heal. She needed to accept what she had become.

She descended in the brightness of early morning, casting a heavy shadow upon the entire island. She landed in the shallows, but the water still only came up to her elbows. A massive wave crashed over the tiny island, and the panicked cries of the hatchlings and their parents alike hardly echoed in her ears.

Several of the adults could easily fit in her mouth. They attacked anyways.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes as the fire rained down on her. It took little effort to open her magic and strengthen her hide. She waited in darkness until the heat subsided, all of the adults having exhausted their flames. Not a drop of her blood had broken free. She felt nothing but a small ache, as if sore from sleeping in an awkward position overnight.

They were speaking to her, demanding her retreat. Some dropped onto her massive body and began clawing and biting, but it was just as futile as the fire. She took in a deep breath.

Forcing open her six eyes, she unleashed the shadow upon them all. It uncoiled and sprung forward with glee, rushing past swifter than gales and plunging deep into the souls of every dragon on the island—even the hatchlings.

Immediately she felt and saw and heard what all of them saw. Confusion, agony, terror, dread, fury—but not any hint of understanding or empathy or compassion.

Baring her teeth, she lifted her head and spoke:

_STOP._

Every dragon froze in place.

She grabbed hold of the hatred in their minds and cast it aside. Then she turned to the adults, found their memories of everything before her arrival—of freedom, she tried to ignore—and swept them up in deep waves of her shadow.

 _You are my children—is this the way you regard your mother?_ She lightly scolded. The dragons lowered their heads and eyes submissively. _Do not worry, for I forgive you._

 _All I ask for is your love_.

* * *

She was trying not to doubt herself.

The nest she had made herself was perfect in every way. It was much bigger than expected, with roughly thirty adults and twenty or so babies. She had moved them all to a much larger island further north, with plenty of room for all of her children to nest comfortably. The island was large and craggy, but it did not offer many caves to hide in. Their numbers would offer protection enough.

They loved her and cared for her, bringing her food offerings and showing her deep respect. She was a behemoth of a dragon, but she was their protector, their savior.

It had been almost too easy to take control of all of them, to convince them with a few words and tricks of her shadow that she was their mother and knew best for them. At first, she was afflicted with pounding headaches. Yet just like with Sphere, after the initial takeover, it took no effort at all to hold the magic. It seemed like once the links between her and her children were formed, it would take sheer force to rip them apart and release them from her hold—otherwise, they were always present.

 _Monster, monster, monster_ , part of her whispered. The shadow smacked it away.

She began to test her limits. She would ask dragons to fly out and scout the surrounding isles while she sat at their nest, looking as if she were under a trance as she lived through them. The farthest she sent a group out was a little over a full day’s flight. At that point, her shadow was stretched thin, and her control was less solid; the dragons began to think for themselves, dangerously close to realizing that they didn’t have to come back to her.

This filled her with terror. The possibility of losing them and the despair that _they_ would likely feel from their loss was too much for her to bear. She stopped sending out flares and instead focused on the nest—on the babies.

She was too anxious to care for the hatchlings, however much she ached to do so. Even after several weeks, far past the time it would take for the illness to take hold, she still did not interact with them. The babies wondered what they had done wrong to cause her to avoid them, and each time it happened she would wince and turn away. Even the adults were concerned for her, and eventually, one asked:

“Why do you despise our young?”

Her first impulse was one of shocked anger. For a brief moment she considered pulling her waiting shadow over them all just a little bit more, to keep these upsetting outbursts from happening again.

Yet her child had a point—and she herself had been avoiding that topic for quite some time now.

“I…” she began, but stopped herself. She was still adjusting to speaking with her magic and not her voice. _I do not._

Her child raised an eyebrow, waiting for elaboration. He was a Flame-Skin whose head barely reached up to her chest, yet he still maintained direct eye contact with her. It was not out of defiance, but a show of his absolute trust in her, that he could be so open and vulnerable and not fear retaliation. Guilt rammed into her heart. She had almost, in a way, destroyed that trust out of a petty fear of being upset.

_I am merely cautious. But you are correct—I have been guided by fear and not reason, and I believe that does not set a good example for the children._

The Flame-Skin grinned and bowed as she rose to her feet. She lumbered towards the nesting-grounds where the babies were playing under the _extremely_ careful observation of some adults she had placed there. Nearby, a few of her children had just arrived from hunting, and were preparing to empty their gullets for the babies.

 _Wait,_ she said, and they looked up to her with shock. _Allow me_. Her crop had plenty of food, being the most-prioritized dragon in the nest. She regurgitated more than enough for all of the babies and then settled down among the adults. A strange kind of relief filled her, and the shadow hummed contently.

The babies ate.

* * *

She was awoken by the shrill, panicked cries of one of her children.

“Wake up! Wake up!” The female Shrill-Screech tumbling atop her head shouted. When she awoke with a start, the Shrill-Screech fell and flopped to the ground. Scrambling to her feet, she shook herself off and cried, “Hurry, hurry! They need you! You can fix this!” With that, she took wing and darted above, keen on returning to… _it._

Of course, she knew. She had known the second she had awoken and the thoughts and memories and emotions of all of her children flooded into her mind. She saw it through them. She smelled it through them. She bore the pain of it through them.

A cold and familiar agony wrapped its claws around her heart. The shadow thrashed against her hold.

The illness had returned in the night, swift as death. Every single hatchling was writhing on the ground, body wracked with pain and nausea.

She closed her eyes and took a steady breath. She would not turn and flee as she had last time.

But she _would_ walk, if only to spare herself a few more minutes from the terrible sight.

When she finally arrived, her children’s hearts filled with relief. She smiled uneasily at them, pushing away any doubts in their minds. She knew that she looked frightened and afraid, but pushed their conscious acknowledgements of it out of their minds—to them, she would seem calm and level-headed. She could not let them know how weak she was, or they would lose hope.

“What’s wrong with them?” One Hum-Wing asked. At her lack of response or acknowledgment, he added, “…Mother?”

She cringed. Mother. That was what she had always wanted, and it had always resulted in _this._ What kind of mother was she?

 _Do not worry_ , she said, stooping down and preparing a healing spell she knew would fail. With soft nudges, she sent it into each of the babies, drawing small comfort from the way it at least eased their pain. _We must do everything we can to save them._

Her babies were going to die.

_We must gather healing-leaves to help aid in their recovery. It will take complex healing-magic for them to survive an illness like this._

Her legs were rattling, her breath coming in short bursts, her eyes stinging from tears that dropped down onto the doomed babies like rain.

_I deeply apologize, my children—I did not expect this to happen._

Her chest felt like it was going to explode. Her mind swam with raw dread at what was to come. The shadow thrashed wildly about.

_We must brace ourselves for the worst, but it is my hope that they will survive this._

She couldn’t stop a small sob from escaping her.

The children were completely unaware of her struggles, blinded with eyes wide open. All they saw was their protector, their savior. To them, she was compassionate yet collected, able to assess the situation logically and come up with the best method of action. If anyone could do it, then it was her. They had nothing to fear, even if she spoke to them with such foreboding words.

A small flare broke off to collect healing-leaves. The rest curled around the dying, offering comfort and whispering promises that she would make everything alright.

She regurgitated the entirety of her crop and forced her nauseated and pained babies to eat.

* * *

She was certain that this would happen, but the pain of it was too much.

The babies were dead. Her remaining children were crushed.

Five days was all that it took. Five days of the best care she could give, of sending her shadow deep into them to search for the source, of giving them almost all the food that she had hunted. Five days for their limbs to grow tingly and numb, for their muscles to start to spasm and lose voluntary control, and for their minds to regress to a confused, agitated delirium.

The entire nest took part in tending to the dead. They cleaned them well, and every dragon gave a little bit of their fire—a little bit of their soul—into cremating them. Together, they all guided them to the Dragoness of the Moon. They had been just over two months old, just learning to hunt and grow up a little bit, excited to become contributions to the nest. And in less than the blink of the eye, they were extinguished.

Her children didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to process this tragedy. So she took it upon herself to reverse their roles; instead of her children offering her food, as was customary to treat the eldest, she hunted for them. Her food offerings were all she could give, as even her shadow could not erase the raw pain of losing a loved one. Her children were grateful, bewildered at her immense generosity, and would always force her to take a little bit for herself. In that, they had each other.

She missed Sphere.

It hit her one day as she was hunting. She had been pushing thoughts of him from her mind for so long, terrified of tainting her memories of him by recalling their last conversations. But suddenly it pounced upon her—how disappointed he would be in her, how furious he would be to see what she had done to an entire nest, how heartbroken he would be over the deaths of the babies.

He had always been there. Now he was gone, and everything was so much worse. The nest did not fill the vast void in her heart that he had left behind.

Overcome, she sat down and abandoned the fish she had been splashing up in the shallows of the ocean, forcing herself to take deep and steady breaths. “Sphere,” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. “Sphere, I’m so sorry.”

She wept as the waves crashed against her. It was too late now. Sphere, her beloved brother and mentor, wasn’t coming back. He had died despising every inch of her, wanting nothing more than to see her suffer as she drew her last breath. And she hadn’t even been able to apologize to him.

Sitting there in the ocean, halfheartedly hoping that it would drag her out, she let herself break free from her perfect image. She sobbed and mourned a dragon that had deserved so much more—a dragon that deserved at least to be remembered in death.

It took several hours for her to regain her composure, to feel prepared to return to her new nest. These dragons were not the replacements that she had wanted, but they still depended on her and loved her and needed her. So she returned with a fake smile plastered across her face, offering what comforts she could.

She and her children carried on as such for a few days, unable to cope.

And then some of the adults got sick.

The pain was so fresh in their minds that every dragon, including the ill, recognized it from the start. Several Little-Biters and Ember-Scales found themselves nauseous, confused, and weak. Yet by the time that the nest had scrambled to find a way to heal them, they had already become resigned to their fates.

She didn’t understand. This had only _ever_ effected hatchlings. Why her other children, too? What had they done to deserve it?

Her children lived in fear now. She had to constantly push it aside in their minds, soothing them the best she could, but she couldn’t stop it from happening. It wasn’t due to a lack of control.

It was because she was terrified out of her mind.

* * *

She was going to find out what caused it.

Staring at the dead Little-Biters and Ember-Scales, she felt her heart harden with resolve. None of this would have ever happened if she had known. Sphere would still be here. She would not be so frightened and agonized if it were not for this.

She needed to find the source. If only to draw this suffering to an end.

For several days, she scrounged through her memories and tried to find a pattern. The children had always fallen ill after she and Sphere had taken up caring for them. The location was not the source; north or south, the climate did not seem to matter. Their numbers did not seem to hold significance either, as both small and large groups would succumb eventually.

She completely abandoned the idea that it was her magic.

The outliers, of course, were the adults. The Little-Biters and Ember-Scales, two species of dragons that shared nothing alike. They had different fires, instinctive behaviors, and magic capabilities altogether. Little-Biters lived in craggy, seafaring environments, while Ember-Scales preferred to coalesce in large groups and dig complex cave networks filled with fire. The fact that her Ember-Scales had even been a part of her nest had been an oddity, as they normally would have left their breeding-grounds to return to their nest.

Their only similarity was their size.

This realization came upon her as she was pacing about her craggy nest, and it made her pause. The Little-Biters and Ember-Scales were hatchling-sized at best as adults. This was…interesting, to say the least. But she could not make sense of it. Were the adults a warning? Were they used specifically because they bring to mind thoughts of hatchlings? What was she doing wrong?

Growling, she shook her head. Her shadow spit at the idea. She wasn’t doing anything wrong—if anything, she was doing right, by struggling so hard to find the source of this torment.

She turned over idea after idea. She couldn’t find any real cause of the illness—it could not have been exposure, or food, or climate, or even size. She was completely dumbfounded.

She needed Sphere.

So desperate for help, she tried to imagine a conversation with him. Wandering off on her own, she found a secluded cave filled with sparkling geodes and sat down.

Her jaw moved, but no sound came out. She had not spoken aloud for so long, it almost hurt to force the air up through her lungs.

“S-Sphere?” She called into the cave. _Sphere?_ It echoed back.

She swallowed. Her voice sounded old, worn, broken. It was a miracle that her children could not see through her mask of confidence, or they would abandon her. She took a moment, and spoke louder this time.

“I don’t know what to do _._ Every time there is improvement, another tragedy strikes.”

  _…another tragedy strikes…_

She stared into the darkness. “I just want the children to be happy. _I_ want to be happy. That was all I ever wanted, Sphere. Is that so wrong?”

_…so wrong…_

“I need you here. I’m so lost without you. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I’m such a fool.”

_…such a fool…_

“What if they keep dying, Sphere? W-what if they all leave me then? Am I doomed to remain alone forever?!”

_…remain alone forever…_

Her heart leapt up into her chest. “Please, Sphere!” She begged. “Show me a sign! Please answer me!”

_Please answer me!_

“Sphere, _please!_ I need you! Please come back!”

_Please come back!_

“I miss you so much!” She sobbed. “Why did this happen?! Why won’t you answer me?”

_Why won’t you answer me?_

“Why does this keep happening?! _Why_ , Sphere?!”

Why _, Sphere?_

She grit her teeth. “PLEASE ANSWER ME! _”_ She howled, throwing her fire into the cave. It illuminated the emptiness within, geodes sparkling like the little eyes of the dead. She bowed her head in crushing shame, taking deep breaths and forcing herself to stop the tears.

 _…answer me…answer me…_ the cave demanded.

But the Sphere she remembered hated her, and she knew he wouldn’t even try to speak with her. This had been a mistake. It was too close at heart—she was not ready to return to these memories and this loss. It _hurt_.

She sat there, hating her own ineptitude and Sphere and mourning and missing him all the same. She remembered how such trauma could have a physical effect from all the other losses she had endured—but this was the worst. It was like a poison, ravaging through her body.

The heartbreak was physical.

Her head snapped up. A horrifying idea came upon her.

Was that the cause?

The thought alone, with all of its implications, almost made her burst into tears again. She stared blankly into the gaping mouth of the cave.

Then she got up, turned her back to it, and walked away.

* * *

She was not ready for this.

Her children knew, despite all of her efforts, that she was struggling. They didn’t dare confront her—not that she would let them.

She alternated between sending out scouting flares to nearby islands and pacing around the nest. They needed a bigger island—she was literally outgrowing their current one, and she could no longer subject her children to living exposed to the open air simply because she could not fit in caves. Dragons _needed_ a sense of security, and that oftentimes came from the comfort of knowing there was only one way to reach them: the entrance to a cavern. She was not so large for it to be impossible to find an island with mountains large enough to fit her, but it would be a challenge.

After much time had passed, a potential island had been found—much farther south than she would have liked, but she knew it may be the only one they would find. While her children had only been allowed close enough to sight it, it was large enough to potentially house her.

It had been weeks now since the many deaths in her nest. Her children were well on their way to recovery, while she remained stagnant, pinned between anger and sorrow. They decided to travel the very day her children had returned from their scouting mission. After confirming that everyone was present, she led them away.

The flight was a long one. Although they had left their original island at midday, the morning was well underway when the island came into view. It was an enormous, claw-shaped mountain surrounded by a stone-pillar forest.

It was also inhabited.

Her eyes widened at the silhouettes of other dragons darting about the mountain. They would have never noticed her children—if it weren’t for her. She had no doubt that they had spotted her, huge and imposing, from miles away. From the looks of it, they were gathering together, readying themselves for battle.

And she had led her children right to them.

 _My children, this island already has occupants_ , she said, unsure of what to do. Should they turn around and flee? Would the young be able to make the taxing flight to the nearest island while being pursued? She could carry quite a few, but not all of them.

Her children had no answer—they were shocked that she didn’t have one herself.

_This nest may be smaller than ours. Or it may be larger. No matter the size, there will likely be battle._

“Then let us fight,” said the male Flame-Skin on her right. He had steadily become her second-in-command. He was an arrogant, wild young dragon that did not know his own limits. The thought of him charging into battle filled her with fear.

“We have flown far,” a Hum-Wing flying behind the Flame-Skin said. “We are tired, while they are resting as they wait for us.”

The Flame-Skin scoffed. “We are able to fight them with Mother!”

She frowned at the name. Even after so much time with her children, after yearning to have someone call her that, she still felt it unfitting. Especially now.

 _I can only do so much_ , she said. _But I promise that I will keep you all safe and—_

She cut herself off as a booming roar sounded from the nest. The dragons resting on its surface took wing, easily outnumbering them.

From the top of the mountain, more poured out. Scores of dragons, twice as many, thrice as many, four times as many, five times as many—!

 _RETREAT!_ She bellowed to her children. _Fly for your lives!_

Terrified now, they turned wing and fled. She held behind them and hovered, staring up at the cloud of dragons descending upon them. They were too fast. They would catch up.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Then, with all her strength, she flung her shadow out to them.

The shadow wailed. It twisted and extended out and out and out until it was stretched completely thin.

A migraine cracked her skull open. She gave out an agonized cry as her ears popped, her vision filled with darkness, and her limbs spasmed and twitched. It was too many dragons! She couldn’t do it!

She grabbed the shadow and _pulled_. Even though it was completely distended, it hissed and fought back. She had absolutely no control over those dragons—she could barely even see through them—but she couldn’t get it away from them!

The enemies were screeching, furious and afraid. They felt her invading them, pinpointed her as the source, and drew into dives. She had but a moment to peek through her pain to see them and ready her magic.

“We retreat!” She cried out among the roar of fire, her voice lost in it. She twisted to run, only to meet the sight of more dragons on all sides. “We mean you no harm!” She tried again. The shadow writhed among them, desperate for control yet too weak to offer anything other than fuel to their flames.

She gasped as a particularly well-placed shot landed on her temple, intensifying the migraine. Her shadow loosened its hold, and with a snarl she latched her claws onto it and yanked it back to her.

Her vision went black.

She reawoke seconds later as she fell right through the throngs of dragons. Her head pounded, and the shadow trapped within snarled with disdain. It took all she had to flip around, open her wings, and all but limp away in the air.

The nest behind her gave a chorus of victory. She narrowed her eyes, but bore with the embarrassment and fury. All that mattered was that her children were…safe…

Far ahead, she could see her children—and giving chase, a flare of dragons. Finally getting her bearings, she reached out to her children, thanking the gods that they hadn’t retreated so far as to escape her reach.

Their pursuers were raining fire upon them, ready to kill.

_“Keep flying!” Her second-in-command gasped, his heart hammering. He had run out of fire, but was trying hard not to show it. “We can outrun them! Keep flying!”_

_“I can’t!” Cried one of the youngest, a Two-Head. She was flying close to the rear, being one of the slowest, and gave a pained wheeze as fire spattered upon her tail and burned through her scales._

_The Flame-Skin looked over his shoulder and saw that Mother was far behind them and their pursuers—too far behind to help. His entire being filled with dread._

We’re going to die, _he thought._

“ _NO!_ ” She screamed. She opened her magic reserves and pounded her wings, flying at speeds that she had lost years ago. Her vision spun, her body ached terribly, the shadow clawed at her, and her head felt as though it would explode. She would be damned if she let another of her own die. Panic and adrenaline consumed her, and she felt a deep rage she had not felt since Sphere’s death consumed her.

She reached them in less than a minute.

Her maw filled with gas and she gained altitude. When she was directly above and just within range, she spewed thick, magic-fueled flames upon the flare, sending dozens of dragons to their deaths. The attack was swift and sudden; by the time that many of them had looked up to see what had happened, she had already prepared more fire to pour upon them. This time, there were more survivors, and they had their sights set solely on her.

 _I will soon lose my fire_ , she realized through her haze of fury, letting up on her flames.

She spun, batting away a portion with her wing and knocking them off-course. She slapped a paw through the air, narrowing her eyes at the way she heard and felt their bones crack. Her children dove down to aid her, engaging in battle with those who drew up behind her to aim cowardly strikes at her back and wings.

She was completely surrounded in a cacophony of colors and screams and heat, and it was becoming hard to concentrate between the dragons fighting her and the ones fighting her children. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting off the nausea of her migraine, and roared.

The enemies, too close, lost their balance as her shrill cry cut through the air. She seized the opportunity with another magic-fueled blast of fire, slowly turning her head to catch as many as possible.

Dozens more fell, unconscious and mortally burned from the superheated flames. What few remained hovered uncertainly right at her nose. She bared her teeth at them and tried to pull more gas into her throat.

It did not come.

In the heat of the moment, in the terror of battle, she had made a foolish, amateur mistake. She had not battled in so long that she had forgotten—yet she had been arrogant enough to assume that with age came superiority and wisdom.

For the first time in decades, she had run out of fire. If the dragons attacked her children now, she would be nearly useless.

As this dawned upon her, she bared her teeth more and drew up so that their enemies were well within her biting range. She would need to intimidate them now for them to retreat. If she planned everything accordingly—

Her second-in-command flung forward, intending to give the last strike to the presumed leader of the flare. He had made his decision too fast for her to counteract it—but the attack was so poorly-hidden that he would never land a single blow.

The leader of the flare, a Forest-Cutter, gave a terrible grin. He puffed up, aiming what was undoubtedly a lethal fire upon her child.

_CRUNCH._

The Forest-Cutter struggled, half of his body still dangling from her mouth. She clenched her jaw just a little tighter, and with several cracks and a burst of blood, the dragon fell limp in her jaw. On impulse she tipped her head back and swallowed him whole, licking the gore off of her teeth.

The enemy flare and her children alike stared at her in horror. She gazed back, blinking as her mind sluggishly caught up to what had happened.

_She had eaten a dragon._

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remain calm. She had…she had…

She hadn’t meant to! She was out of fire, her shadow useless! She had no choice!

_Monster, monster, monster._

Without thinking she shot her shadow forward. Ravenous after its previous failure, it dove into the still-petrified minds of what was left of the pursuers. Of all that had attacked her children, only fifteen had remained. She swept her shadow through both their minds and her children’s, whispering:

_I did what had to be done. Do you understand? It was the only way._

_We understand_ , her children and enemies replied.

With this acceptance, she swept up their memories into her shadow, layering it upon them until it was impossible for them to recall it.

 _We must flee, my children_ , she finally spoke, risking a glance behind. The rest of the enemies had launched from their nest after witnessing her flames. Soon they would meet her children, and they would spell the end of her nest. _We are in great danger here. Is anyone hurt?_

“I am,” came the weak cry of many of her children. Some Flame-Skins, Little-Biters, and Two-Walkers were all sporting enough wounds to hinder their flight. Quite a few of the enemies—no, her new children—were injured as well.

_Please, rest upon my back. You will be safe with me._

_I promise._

As they fled for their lives, the members of the nest gave howls of despair. They cried out to their own, the ones she had taken control of. They begged the gods to help them. They truly believed that she would feast on them.

She blocked them from her mind. She had no other choice.

* * *

She was feared by her children.

She didn’t know how they still remembered, even after trying to remove the memory entirely from their minds. A small part of them, deep beneath her reach, still knew the gods-damned truth: that she had eaten one of their own, swallowing it whole like a fish snatched from the ocean.

While all of her children remained loving to her, there was still just the slightest drawing-back of trust. Their eyes lingered on her a few seconds longer as she trudged through their midst, and adrenaline would spike through them if she drew her maw near them for any reason. While it was not consciously so, they remembered. They were afraid.

With the fear came something unexpected. Prior to their failed attempt at finding a new nest, her children had been somewhat disobedient, acting out despite her will. She would have no other choice than to pull the shadow over them completely to prevent such actions. Now, however…her children did what she said, and _only_ that.

They were perfect children and subjects now. From this tragedy, something else had blossomed—and it had given her some intuition.

She put it to good use. Her shadow was perfectly content in aiding her. She commanded the new additions to their nest to teach her children how they fought, how they used magic. She studied them closely, diving deep into their memories long-since shrouded by the shadow to observe the fighting style of the nest. They would not be unprepared next time. They would find the weakest points of the nest.

So focused was she on training that, once more, she burdened herself with hunting for the nest. A task that had already been quite difficult became doubly so, forcing her to spend her days at sea, swimming deep into the ocean to catch giant squids, whales, and entire shoals of fish. She oftentimes returned weary but satisfied, happy to give her children the majority of her catch.

The days wore on.

Then the injured grew weaker. All of the Little-Biters and many of her younger children caught an infection of some sort. Their stomachs ached and their limbs were heavy. Keeping down food became impossible, and they quickly began to feel the sharp and merciless bite of starvation.

She cursed herself for her stupidity and stopped hunting exotic animals. It must have been that; her children were probably unable to digest them fully, their bodies completely unaccustomed to them. Perhaps the animals were poisonous to smaller dragons, but her massive body size saved her from any major symptoms.

She began scrounging nearby islands for surface-level fish and game. It became harder and harder still to find enough food. She came back to their undersized nest later and later.

The training began to slow. The weak grew more ill.

Familiar symptoms appeared.

And too late—far, _far_ too late—she realized that their afflictions were not from battle wounds or improper food.

They never were.

* * *

She was finally beginning to understand.

As if the gods had become tired of her endless thrashing about for answers, it became clear to her the moment she set her eyes them, like the solution had been neatly placed before her in glowing letters. As she watched the grown adults writhing on the ground, overtaken by the illness that had been her bane for almost as long as she could remember, every loose end of this unholy mystery neatly resolved itself.

She thought of every child that had been in her care and how horribly she had failed them. Her magic had given her all the insight she had needed, and the answer had been screaming at her from the very beginning.

She should have known. _She should have known._

She should have thought just a little bit harder instead of avoiding her problems and hoping they would disappear. She certainly had no excuses after the last round, when adults had been taken from her as well. That in and of itself should have been the final piece of the puzzle, the clicking of the lock as it opened.

The shadow wailed and doubted. Guilt came crushing at her from all sides, as if she’d allowed herself to sink too far below the ocean and the weight of every last drop of water was piercing into her, crumbling her from within.

She had to make sure.

She had to, even if she must do something terrible. In spite of all logic, in spite of how much it infuriated her to turn away from the obvious answer, she would not believe it until it was proven to her.

She stopped hunting for her children. She tended to the ill, gave speeches to their nestmates, and watched helplessly as they withered away in the cruelest of deaths.

After she had methodically performed the burying rituals, finally numb to it all, she went out to sea. She found more fish. She isolated two small groups of her children: one to be compared to, and one to…to…

…that was the group she fed. For all the rest of her children, she swept her shadow over them, forcing them to believe nothing abnormal of her heinous actions.

She waited.

She hoped.

She prayed.

She wept.

Within days she had her answer.

_Monster, monster, monster._

* * *

She was, in some ways, appreciative of the poetic irony of it all.

The gods truly and wholly despised her. She was destined for a life of sorrow, of grief, of loss. The Dragoness of the Moon had only spared her because she had not yet received the full brunt of her punishment. Just as many dragons draw out the deaths of their prey, so too were the gods to her.

 _It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair_ , she found herself repeating once more. She most certainly deserved pain and judgement—but many of her actions had been _because_ of those very punishments, and to again blame her for her rational responses in the following circumstances was unjust.

She was so so so _so_ tired of the constant torment of guilt and loss. She had done what was best in the end, caring for her children as every mother should.

To be cursed in such a way—to have the very _essence_ of her role as a mother poisoned—was far crueler than she could ever imagine. The more she thought about it the worse it became, as if she herself were succumbing to it as well, even though she never could.

Monster she was…but did she really, truly deserve it?

The shadow was a constant drone, hungry for satisfaction. She now knew that no amount of love she brought into the world would give her penance, nor would it right her wrongs.

So she gave into it.

She cared for the remainder of her children, teaching them all she could about magic and fighting. She taught them how to strengthen their claws sharp enough to rind steel, how to give their fire so much life that it boiled water on contact, how to power their wings to make them fly fast enough to rival a Shadow-Blender.

Their love for her gave them an eagerness to learn from her. Their fear of her gave them the drive to perfect themselves so as not to disappoint her. This, she felt, was right. This, she assured herself, was what she was _meant_ to be: something both worthy of compassion and caution, something that gave any creature pause before it dared defy her.

On and on she pushed them. The shadow became content and happy, and so did she.

Soon she knew they were ready. They would finally leave this island of burdens. Her children would have somewhere safe to stay, somewhere new and untouched by her sins. Somewhere she could start over, somewhere her children would be happier.

They launched from the island that had been their home with a final goodbye. Every single one of her children were excited.

For the first time in many months, so was she.

* * *

She was actually smiling when the island came into view.

“Look, Mother,” gasped the teenaged Flame-Skin who flew to her right, now hardened by battle and training. “There it is!”

 _Indeed_ , she agreed. _Do not have doubts, my children. We are prepared now, and we must fight for our new home. Only here will we thrive._

 _And only here do other dragons know what I have done_ , she thought to herself.

They all gave various cries of excitement. Each dragon had been revitalized with one of her spells, filled with food that they hunted themselves, and were well-rested. They had found the closest island to this one to rest for a whole day in preparation. Now they were refreshed, looking forward to having a new home, hearts beating rapidly and fires readied.

She knew that she was leading a suicide charge. Yet somehow, she was confident that they would succeed. That now-familiar nest, surrounded by a canopy of sea stacks, would soon be theirs. The sun was high and the temperatures warm, the ocean smooth and crisp below. The only thing stopping them were the residents.

Already their enemies were streaming out of it, battle roars echoing off of the stone pillars. They came darting from the fog that rested at the base of the mountain, and even more burst from its center.

 _Stay close to me, my children!_ She cried. _Stay close, and I promise that you will survive!_

She was so large now that almost all of them could huddle close to her as they flew. They positioned themselves carefully around her, so that any dragon attacking them would have to be within her strike range to do so. All was as planned.

The two warring fronts drew closer. Their enemies had already begun to surround them, forming a curved line that was snaking around their tiny group.

She waited until she could make out individual features of each dragon, drew up, and pushed her wings down with all of her strength.

Dozens of dragons gave out shrieks as their wings filled with air, buffeting them and sending them careening backwards. They crashed into their fellow brethren, sending even more toppling towards the unforgiving ocean. In the same instant she drew in a deep breath and spat white-hot fire into their ranks, turning her head slowly so that all of them would face her fury.

Within seconds she had taken down nearly a hundred dragons. The loss was barely noticeable, there were so many more. Her children were awed with her strength, and more than a few sent a grateful prayer to the gods that she was on their side.

She pulled up taller and took in a deep breath. “ _ENOUGH!_ ” She roared, so loud that her children fought to fly steady. “ _SUBMIT TO US!_ ”

Their enemies, predictably, did not. With renewed vigor they charged. She and her children met them halfway.

Fire and claws and teeth filled her vision. She closed her eyes and let herself see through her children, who began to dart about through their ranks at breakneck speed and spew fire hot enough to kill. Just as instructed, they retreated to the outer edges first, using all of their might to herd their enemies into a single group.

That only left one dragon exposed: her. As the largest and most fearsome dragon, she was almost unilaterally targeted. Her fears that her children would be chased after leaving her fell away, allowing her to almost relax even as fire poured down on her. She was, after all, the one who deserved to be attacked.

Again she fully extended her wings, drawing them down to create a blast of wind. Yet she was too slow—the dragons had learned the first time and had scrambled out of the way, leaving only a few to be flung astray.

The gap filled in almost instantly. She winced when one of her children was slashed from behind, and sent another child after them to make sure they were safe.

Their enemies continued to spew fire upon her. The shadow in her screamed for their blood. She remained there with her magic locked around her scales and her eyes closed, almost as if she were sleeping. The dragons came closer, more daring and frustrated now. They gave howls of fury, a mixture of demands for her to fight back and for her to retreat. This was their home! Ungodly, cannibalistic creatures like her had no right stealing it away!

They were right, of course. She allowed herself a forlorn smile.

It was for the best, she told herself. Her children needed her to do this—and soon. A great shudder wracked through her body as one of her children succumbed to an enemy’s flames and fell into the thrashing waves below. She held back the rest of her children from saving him—they needed their strength, and would only meet the same fate once they neared the ocean.

She needed to act _now._ She spared a heartbeat to confirm through her children how close the dragons were. With eyes still shut, she sent her magic into her wings and lurched forward.

Her jaws snapped around half a dozen dragons before they could even react. She swallowed them, bared her teeth, and snapped all six of her eyes open so that the horror that filled her enemies would burn into her memory forever. In that stunned silence, her roar of pain and sorrow and resignation touched every dragon to their core.

The agony of it all only stayed them for a second. It was all her children needed to get into place.

She shot forward again. Her children encircling the entire flock breathed fire that seared at the touch. They were organized just so that as their enemies tried to fling away from her, they met a wall of unpassable flame instead.

The air filled with terror-scent. Dragons wailed for their lives.

At their most vulnerable moment, she unhinged her shadow and flung it towards them, letting it strike deep and true into every single dragon.

She clenched her eyes and jaw at the onslaught of motion and memories and pure and utter _fear_ that spread through her mind. Her head pounded and the taste of dragon-blood made her want to wretch, but she held firm and pushed her shadow out, out, out. It enveloped the entire nest, and in their raw horror, they were powerless against it. The majority had scarcely recognized her presence in their mind before her shadow blasted through them, tearing away their will to fight back.

That was all it took: fear, confusion, and despair. Just like with her, it was the ultimate weakness of all dragons.

From its beginning to end, her final strike had only lasted a few seconds. She waited, searching for any that had escaped her notice. Her shadow did its work, wrapping their memories of their previous lives and freedoms in smothering blankets of comfort and love. The sky grew quiet and still as every dragon turned fearful eyes onto her.

She made sure that all of them forgot the battle that had just taken place.

 _Well done, my children_ , she cooed. _We have been faced with a great threat, but emerged victorious. Allow us to return home, so that our souls may grow less weary._

_We have a whole new life to begin. I am overjoyed to start it with all of you._

* * *

She was, _finally_ , home.

The mountain nest was large enough even for her to fit. She had found a tunnel underwater that lead right to its center, although her wiggling about had caused it to cave in. She was not concerned; her children had always provided her with food, and they would now as well.

If she were honest with herself, she could do with staying secluded for once, for being safe from the outside world, from the moon…

Her children felt the same joy and relief as her, twirling about ecstatically as they explored their new home.

Very few flew within her biting range.

She watched them all with a fond smile, shifting in the small lava deposit below her to get a better view. She leaned down and blew more superheated fire upon it. The rock melted into magma and she curled up further into to it, savoring the warmth that she had not felt for years. She could grow accustomed to this. She could make this her life’s work, to ensure the safety and happiness of her children. Her shadow nestled contently, all but purring with resolve.

Truly, without her children, she would be nothing.

She did not have to be their “real” mother. She was the mother to _all_ of them, even if she had not been the one to lay their eggs and keep them warm. In caring for them, she could grow to accept the truth. She could come to accept that it had been her who had killed her babies from long ago—it had been _her_ , even without realizing it.

She frowned at the memory and shook her head. The lesson had been learned, and the mistake would never be repeated again. She was no longer afraid of it.

In knowing its source—no matter how much it _killed_ her—she sealed the demise of the illness. After all, she and it were inherently tied to one another: both physically and metaphorically. It had been a symbol of her foolishness, of her malice, of her monstrosity. In erasing it from this world, so too would those parts of her. She was a horrible creature—but that didn’t mean that she should _always_ be horrible.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. A small, wiry black dragon overcome with curiosity, flitting about just close enough to be noticeable. A _Shadow-Blender!_ A snort of surprise escaped her. Shadow-Blenders generally nested much further south and migrated during breeding season, which was still for many months to come. Why was he here?

She met his turbulent green eyes and shifted through his memories. She couldn’t help a pitying smile at the poor thing’s past—at the things that he had seen. He was scarcely a yearling, maybe a little more so, and here he was…caught in the crossfires, having the misfortune of finding this nest mere days before her return, cowering against the stones as he helplessly watched the battle from afar. So great was his shattering of self, consumed with thoughts of worthlessness, that her shadow had still found him.

 _Hello, my child. All is well, I promise you_ , she soothed. Her heart ached for him, for she knew the scorching pain of loss just as well as he.

His eyes widened and his wingbeats grew more frantic. The little Shadow-Blender nearly fell right out of the air, he was so shocked to be addressed by her.

“H-hello,” he stammered. His head whipped back and forth, searching for someone to take his role. _Why is she talking to me?! I just want to be alone! I’m not even important, why does she care?_ His mind whirled.

She chuckled. _It is unwise to be so certain of such things, my Shadow-Blender. Do not worry, for you are safe and loved here. There is no need to be so distant._

He gave a defiant huff, one she had grown accustomed to dealing with in the few young dragons she had interacted with. It took much self-control for her to keep a smile from breaking her stern, motherly look.

Inside him she saw greatness, something she could utilize so that her children were safe and happy. She would wait and see if a time came where his full potential would be required—where his mind could, in some part, be given reprieve from her shadow. For now, however, he would receive no special treatment.

 _Do not let me keep you here_ , she dismissed him. _Fly safely, my child._

He nodded. His eyes, the same color of auroras, were almost haunting. Something about them was unnerving and eerie.

It took her several moments to realize that they were the same color as Sphere’s soulfire.

As she fought to catch her bearings, he hesitated. For several seconds he tried to think of what formalities he should use, having no prior experience to draw back on. Finally, he settled on what to say and gave a deep bow.

His words were quiet and heartfelt, like a prayer to a distant god.

“Thank you, my Queen.”


End file.
